


hard not to find it all a little bittersweet

by fakecharliebrown



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, Coping, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Loss, Gender Identity, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grief/Mourning, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, If it kills me, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nonbinary Kita Shinsuke, Nonbinary Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru's Knee Injury, Past Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Post-Break Up, Recovery, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, im literally going to make that a common tag, mark my words, so many of them, tagging this makes me understand why my beta keeps crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 44,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakecharliebrown/pseuds/fakecharliebrown
Summary: “We’re, like, the Sad Breakfast Club or some shit,” Oikawa said, chuckling.Shinsuke paused. “As I recall, the Breakfast Club is already fairly sad to begin with.”“Okay, fine,” Oikawa said. “The Breakfast Club, but worse.”“Breakfast Club Two: Electric Boogaloo,” Shinsuke murmured.or; loss brings Kita to the city where loss has left Oikawa trapped.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kita Shinsuke & Oikawa Tooru, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Osamu
Comments: 182
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from tim mcgraw by taylor swift! 
> 
> thank u to my lovely beta caspie for helping me w this fic! i will be linking to where u can find them in the ending notes :>

The problem with small towns was that they never really changed, even after Shinsuke’s entire life had seemingly fallen to irreparable pieces while simultaneously continuing on the exact same as it always had. His friends still texted him memes in the groupchat, his professors still emailed him classwork he’d missed, and the neighbor’s chickens still clucked in the next yard. Everything was exactly the same, and nothing was the same, and Shinsuke couldn’t stand it. 

Shinsuke spent the week after his grandmother’s death ignoring the funeral preparations going on at home, exploring every last inch of the town he knew like the back of his hand in search of something she hadn’t touched, some place where he could exist without that crushing sense of loneliness and grief pressing down on him from all sides until he couldn’t _breathe._

But she had raised him here, when Shinsuke wasn’t at school or his father was too busy with work to properly pay attention to a child under the age of ten. She used to take him to the park, when it was balmy or breezy and the sky was blue, because those were the days when her arthritis was at its mildest and she felt fine walking all over the tiny, little town. Shinsuke always wanted to be on the swings, always wanted her to push him as high as he could go and when he started getting too big and she started getting too old, she taught him to pump his legs to propel himself while she sat on the bench nearby. 

And when it was warmest on those hot summer afternoons, she would take Shinsuke to the ice cream shop in the center of town, where she would get a scoop of vanilla in a waffle cone and Shinsuke would get a dish of whatever fruity flavor suited his fancy that day. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly bold, she would get chocolate and offer him a spoonful, and laugh when Shinsuke turned his nose up at it.

Shinsuke stood outside of the ice cream shop, his nose buried in his scarf as an icy winter breeze blew through, and he could taste the flavor of chocolate ice cream on the tip of his tongue even though he’d spent every day since he was ten years old actively avoiding it. 

She used to call him strange for despising chocolate ice cream but not anything else chocolate-flavored, and Shinsuke used to smile at her and tell her that he knew what he liked, that he wanted to save the chocolate ice cream for someone who could really appreciate it.

But on that day, Shinsuke went into the ice cream shop and he ordered a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone and he took it to the park, where he brushed the snow off of the swingset and he sat down and stared at the ice cream in his mittened hand and he suddenly didn’t know what to do with it. 

The swingset was old and rusted by now. It creaked every time Shinsuke swayed backward, but Shinsuke ignored it because it sounded a little like a child’s giggling laugh, and the low hum it gave when he went forward sounded a little like a grandmother’s answering chuckle.

The ice cream melted in his hand, and Shinsuke threw it away and went home, and he spent every day afterward doing the same thing. 

After his week-long break from university expired, Shinsuke resumed his daily trek to classes, and on the train ride there he would scroll through his phone endlessly, reading every text and not knowing what to say to any of them. By the third day, he’d finally given into the urge to open a text thread he hadn’t touched in two weeks, not since the last time he messaged her. 

His last message hadn’t been what he would’ve wanted to say to her. His last message wasn’t anything that mattered, in the long run. Just a simple: _class ran long, so i won’t be able to stop by before work. sorry._

He hadn’t even managed to tack on a _love you._ And then, three days later, Shinsuke’s father woke him up at six in the morning to say that nobody had heard from his grandmother since Shinsuke blew her off. 

The little knot of self-loathing tightened every time he read his own text message, every time he registered the read receipt situated just beneath. 

When Shinsuke returned to the house that evening after classes and after he finished his shift at work, he saw her car sitting in the driveway, and for a moment he forgot why. For a moment he thought to himself, _is it Saturday already?_ For a moment, he fretted that he didn’t have anything to give her once they’d finished their meal, didn’t even have an interesting story to tell her. 

And then it hit him full force, and he stood silently in the driveway for so long that his father flicked on the porch lights and came outside in his night clothes to stare at him. There was a heavy set to his facial expression, his eyes sad and drooping and _tired,_ and Shinsuke felt so _horrible,_ he didn’t even know what to say. 

“Shinsuke,” his father called, his voice softer than its usual gruff tone. “Come inside. It’s cold.” 

Shinsuke turned to his father, and his vision blurred with unshed tears. 

“Shinsuke,” his father said again. He lifted his arms—an invitation. Shinsuke’s feet moved before he could fully register what he was doing, until he had collided with his father’s solid, warm chest and he simply stood there, his tears spilling over as his father held him. Shinsuke turned his head, and stared at the car in the driveway until he wished he couldn’t see anything at all.

-

There was a hole in the bedsheet that Tooru discovered at 1:58 in the morning, all alone and in pain in an apartment that was meant for two people but currently only housed one person and the ghost of another.

Ushijima had left them after Tooru’s knee finally gave out. Tooru didn’t think it was meant to hurt them the way it did, didn’t think Ushijima ever really understood the gravity of his actions and how they could affect people, and Tooru had always _known_ Ushijima didn’t have any fucking tact, but the point was that Tooru’s knee gave out halfway through a practice match two years into college and Ushijima broke up with them a week after they got home from the surgery.

He claimed it wasn’t because Tooru couldn’t play anymore. Claimed that it was unfortunate timing, to which Tooru replied that their whole fucking relationship had been ‘bad timing.’ And it had—when they met in middle school, Tooru hated Ushijima with a burning passion that lived on into high school and then somehow they ended up at the same college, on the same team, where they reluctantly bonded and then Tooru _loved him_ and then Tooru’s knee gave out and Ushijima left them. 

Which is how Tooru found themself sobbing on the floor of their own bedroom at 1:58 in the fucking morning, because there had been a rip in the bedsheet when they grabbed it to haul themself back into bed after a trip to the bathroom and they lost their grip and fell. 

It had been very hard not to scream when they hit the floor, but it was almost two in the morning and Tooru valued their relationship with their neighbors too much to risk waking any of them up. Breathing heavily, Tooru clutched the bedframe and felt hot tears roll down their cheeks. Their chest felt suddenly too tight. Why the fuck was there a hole in the sheet? When had that hole gotten there? Tooru did the laundry two weeks ago and it had been _fine._

Their phone lit up on the bedside table, buzzing quietly in the silent night. Tooru glanced over at it, and considered ignoring it, but a stupid part of their heart leapt at the thought that maybe it was Ushijima, and they were crawling over to retrieve it before they knew what they were doing. 

Tooru slid to answer the call without bothering to see who it was. 

The other end of the line crackled. “ _You answered. Isn’t it, like—two AM for you?”_

Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi, who was in the United States for school, and who had no idea what had happened to Tooru in the last two weeks because Tooru had gone radio silent. 

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru rasped. 

There was a pause. “ _Shittykawa,”_ Iwaizumi replied. “ _What’s wrong?”_

Tooru sniffled. “Nothing’s wrong,” they lied, because Iwaizumi would drop everything for them if only he knew. And Iwaizumi was pursuing his dream in America, and Tooru didn’t want to take away Iwaizumi’s dream just because they’d lost theirs.

_“You’re a shitty liar, Oikawa,”_ Iwaizumi spat. “ _I only called because my Shittykawa-senses told me you’d just done something stupid.”_

Tooru’s eyes drifted back over to the bed. Their crutches were still propped against the footboard, waiting for Tooru to use them in the morning. Tooru had ignored them, had thought that using them just for a measly trip to the bathroom at 1:58 in the morning would be more of a hassle than it was worth. And then they’d lost their balance because there was a hole in the bedsheet, and their knee hurt more than it had when it gave out in the middle of the fucking volleyball court, and the crutches at the end of the footboard were mocking Tooru. 

“There’s a hole in the bedsheet,” Tooru whispered. “I don’t know where it came from.” 

Iwaizumi paused again. “ _Shittykawa,”_ he grunted. “ _Talk to me. What’s going on?”_

“I didn’t know there was a hole in the bedsheet,” Tooru continued, as if Iwaizumi had never even spoken. “I did the laundry two weeks ago and the sheets were fine.” Tooru reached out, and snagged a finger in the fold of the sheets on the unmade bed. “I don’t remember where he bought these,” Tooru breathed, voice scarcely whisper and still somehow too loud. “I don’t know how to replace them.” 

And a small part of them didn’t _want_ to replace them. They knew, in the back of their mind, that the hole in the sheet would only worsen with time, that there was no good reason to keep using ripped sheets when the department store three blocks away sold sheets of every thread count for dirt cheap, but—

Ushijima bought these, when he first moved into Tooru’s little apartment five minutes away from campus. He bought them the day he moved in and placed them down on the kitchen counter in the plastic shopping bag and said, _This can be ours._

And Tooru had loved him as much as they loved the sheets that felt like heaven on their face from how soft they were, had loved that the very first thing Ushijima ever thought to buy was a fucking _sheet set,_ because he was bland and practical until the day he broke up with Tooru a week after they got surgery on a career-ending knee injury and left Tooru to figure out what to do with everything he’d left behind. 

“I have to go, Iwa-chan,” Tooru said, suddenly remembering where they were. “It’s late.”

They hung up before they could hear Iwaizumi’s response, and shut their phone all the way off before they reached up onto the bed and grabbed the first pillow their hand made contact with, dragging it down onto the floor and tucking it beneath their head. 

Sleeping on the floor would be bad for their back and bad for their knee injury. But sleeping on the too-empty, too-cold bed would be bad for their heart, so really sleeping in general was just a double edged sword and Tooru was their own executioner. 

Besides. Tooru couldn’t sleep on the bed when there was a hole in the sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok folks strap in bc this is the most self indulgent thing ive ever written, its 24% a vent fic, and its gonna be quite a ride
> 
> thank u for coming and i hope u enjoy this fic as much as i enjoy writing it! 
> 
> im going to try to establish a publishing schedule of like,, one chapter a week?? but we will see in the future how that turns out
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time


	2. Chapter 2

Shinsuke moved away from his hometown a month after the funeral. A month staring at the same text thread on his morning commute, a month going through the same motions in the same town where she lived and breathed and bled her presence into every crack in the pavement eventually got under his skin to the point where he could barely get dressed in the morning for how he  _ itched,  _ how he  _ hated it all so much.  _

His father noticed. He noticed, every morning as he stared at Shinsuke over the lip of his coffee mug when Shinsuke scratched tiredly at the sleeves of his jacket that he didn’t even put  _ on,  _ because even the thought of static electricity, of wearing a long-sleeved jacket properly, was enough to bring him to tears in the middle of his bedroom floor before he’d even had a chance to properly rub the sleep out of his eyes. 

His father noticed whenever Shinsuke came home and stood in the driveway where her car had sat unused and unloved for two weeks after the funeral before someone finally came around to buy it, where Shinsuke had had to sit in the driver’s seat and clean out all of her loose change, all of the blankets she’d left in the backseat and wipe down every last trace of her from the car. 

His father noticed. But he never said anything. 

Shinsuke thought that might’ve been why, three weeks after the funeral, his father just gazed at him with a quiet, sad acceptance on his face when Shinsuke said he was transferring to a university in the city, far away from this little town where the ghost of his grandmother haunted him at every corner and Shinsuke felt like his skin didn’t fit him anymore. He pressed his lips into a thin line, staring down at the last dregs of coffee grounds swirling at the bottom of his mug, and he said, “Okay.” 

He didn’t say anything else. Shinsuke didn’t ask for anything else, and that was the end of it. 

Shinsuke spoke to his advisors at his university while simultaneously sending out applications to schools in the bigger cities in bigger prefectures where his grandmother had never been, where her fingerprints couldn’t linger and Shinsuke couldn’t catch whiffs of her perfume carried on every gentle breeze. 

Eventually he received admission to a school in Tokyo, and Shinsuke’s father loaded up their beat-up car with the boxes of Shinsuke’s things and carted them out to Shinsuke’s little apartment that he’d found for cheap situated comfortably between the flower shop that had hired him and the university that had accepted him. His father helped him bring the boxes up to Shinsuke’s apartment, and then he lingered awkwardly in the doorway. 

“You can come home whenever ya want,” he said, and his voice sounded thick, as if it was an effort to get the words past his throat. “Ya know.” 

Shinsuke offered his father a smile and a quiet thanks. “I know,” he said. “But I think this’ll be good for me.” 

His father smiled back, and Shinsuke could see in that moment that he got his reserved smile from his father. “I always knew ya’d never be happy back home. Too small.”

“I don’t want much,” Shinsuke told his father. 

“But ya want  _ more,”  _ his father added. Shinsuke said nothing. His father sighed, still with that same smile on his face, but it had become a little tight around the edges. “‘S’alright, Shinsuke. I hope ya find what yer lookin’ for.”

“Thank you,” Shinsuke said. His father squeezed his shoulder, fastened his baseball cap a little lower on his head, and then he turned and left the apartment. The door closed behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo louder than a gunshot in Shinsuke’s head, as the crushing realization that Shinsuke was  _ alone  _ finally hit him full force. 

Shinsuke had never so much as spent the night outside of his hometown. And now he lived completely on his own in  _ the city.  _ He was simultaneously overwhelmed and relieved. Overwhelmed, as everything he had to do all on his own suddenly dawned on him, and utterly  _ relieved,  _ as he realized that he was finally  _ free.  _

He loved his grandmother, he really did. She was the one Shinsuke always wanted to show off to, the one person Shinsuke always wanted to make proud. She was the one person Shinsuke always wanted to hug, always wanted to be near. He loved her so much he couldn’t even really fathom it. But Shinsuke had never wanted to be haunted by her. 

A change of pace was good. A change of scenery was good. 

_ His grandmother would’ve wanted the best for him _ , Shinsuke reminded himself. He curled his trembling hands into loose fists at his sides, and pretended his breath didn’t come out shaky.  _ Even if that meant letting her go. _

-

Tooru’s new neighbor was quiet. Tooru had been home when he moved in, an older man helping him carry neatly labeled and packed cardboard boxes up to the apartment before leaving him on his own. He seemed to be around Tooru’s age, but he was quiet in a way that Tooru’s old neighbor had never been. Tooru rarely even saw him, apart from when they were leaving for physical therapy and he seemed to be returning from an early morning class, dark bags beneath his eyes and a small yawn escaping his mouth every morning without fail. Tooru considered saying hello, but their neighbor didn’t seem to be very social. He gave off a slightly intimidating vibe, an aura of  _ don’t-talk-to-me  _ circling around him like a halo overhead. 

So, Tooru kept their distance. They waved whenever they remembered to, but for the most part they were caught up in their own world the same way their neighbor was caught up in his. 

And then, one shitty, rainy Wednesday morning. Tooru was returning from physical therapy at the same time their neighbor was leaving for a class, and Tooru was trying to maneuver their crutches up the stairs when one of them slid out from under them and they tumbled back down the four steps they’d managed to climb. Their neighbor, at the top of the stairs, blinked dumbly down at Tooru for a solid three seconds before he seemed to remember himself and he carefully made his way down the stairs, kneeling down beside Tooru as they struggled to a sitting position. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, gently holding Tooru by the arm to support them. Tooru huffed and reached out to grab their crutch, using both the crutch and their neighbor to slowly work their way back to their feet. 

“I’m fine,” they muttered, yanking their arm back. Their neighbor was unperturbed by Tooru’s bratty behavior, crouching down to retrieve the other fallen crutch and offer it to Tooru with that same calm expression on his face. Tooru quirked an eyebrow. “It’s just these shitty crutches.” 

“Okay,” their neighbor said. His slightly twangy accent was more endearing than anything, but it still caught Tooru off guard. They’d heard different accents over their time living in the city, but never one quite like their neighbor’s. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to walk ya back to yer apartment to ensure yer safety.” 

Tooru squinted at him. Ordinarily, they would’ve said  _ no, not a chance, fuck the hell off and never talk to me again,  _ but—they were so tired, and this man seemed nothing if not genuine, so they sighed and said, “Fine, whatever. Come on.” 

Their neighbor smiled, just slightly, and Tooru stared, dumbfounded at the man for a few seconds. They hadn’t realized he was capable of expressing emotion; they’d never seen him so much as twitch away from the carefully calm expression he seemed to wear constantly. 

Their neighbor tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Is everythin’ okay?” 

Tooru jerked out their reverie and turned toward the stairs. “Everything’s fine.” 

Their neighbor kept a polite distance the entire time Tooru made their way up the stairs, standing behind Tooru in a way that was optimal to catch them should they fall again. Tooru was not touched by the gesture, no matter what their heart said. 

Once the two of them arrived back at Tooru’s apartment, their neighbor took a slight step back and said, “Thank you for allowin’ me to escort ya home.” 

Tooru stared at him, as a strange feeling washed over them. Ever since Ushijima had packed a duffel bag of his things and left, Tooru had been completely isolated aside from their physical therapist. They weren’t allowed to go to class, and they didn’t have the strength nor the courage to talk to any of their friends and admit all the vulnerabilities they’d gone through, and so this, right here, was the most social interaction outside of physical therapy Tooru had had in—weeks, probably. 

And even though Tooru barely knew their neighbor, knew next to nothing about him—a part of them didn’t want this to end. Because part of them had seen their neighbor in passing, had seen that strange emptiness in his eyes that seemed to mingle and swirl and blend with a crushing kind of sadness—the same kind of sadness and emptiness Tooru saw in their own reflection whenever they mustered the strength to look in the mirror. And the rest of Tooru was just achingly  _ lonely,  _ after spending every day surrounded by people and friends and a boyfriend and then suddenly being thrust into social isolation of their own making. 

They knew it was their own fault they were lonely and sad and fucking miserable. But they didn’t know how to make it stop. 

In a last ditch effort to preserve was little hope was left in their heart, what little positive emotion hadn’t been totally stained and tainted by the misery they were swimming (drowning) in lately, Tooru stared at their neighbor’s retreating back and called, “Would you like to come in for a minute? I have coffee.” 

That was a lie. They only had stale tea in their cabinet from what Ushijima had forgotten.

But their neighbor didn’t need to know that. He paused, mid-step, and turned to look over his shoulder at Tooru. “I don’t even know yer name. Ya don’t know mine,” he pointed out. “And yer invitin’ me into yer apartment?” 

“Oikawa Tooru,” Tooru said in response. They watched as their neighbor regarded them carefully. Not suspiciously, not distrustfully—just  _ carefully.  _ Tooru was getting the feeling that their neighbor was not the type of person to do anything without thinking it through. The opposite type of person to everyone Tooru had ever known. Even Iwaizumi had had a tendency to be a little bit brash; Tooru usually chalked it up to having grown up on a sport that moved as quickly as volleyball. There could be no hesitation in volleyball, and so nobody Tooru had ever met ever seemed to hesitate about anything.

“Kita Shinsuke,” their neighbor finally said. The name rang a distant bell in Tooru’s mind, though they weren’t entirely sure why. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“That’s fine,” Tooru replied. “I don’t actually have any coffee.” 

Kita smiled, just slightly, and the ghost of a laugh escaped him. “Okay,” he agreed. “Give me a second to email my professor and let her know I won’t be in class today.” 

Tooru unlocked the door to their apartment and limped inside, leaving the door open for Kita to enter whenever he finished sending his email. Once they reached the living room, Tooru collapsed unceremoniously onto the couch, swinging their injured leg up and around to prop it up on the cushions in front of them. They let out a breath through gritted teeth as they slowly and painfully rolled up the leg of their sweatpants to see how the fall from earlier had aggravated their injury, frowning at the angrily forming bruises already visible on their knee. 

“I’ll get ya some ice,” Kita said suddenly, making Tooru jerk. They hadn’t realized he’d come in. Before they could say anything, Kita had already headed for the kitchen area of the apartment, and Tooru was going to ask how Kita even knew where to find ice before they realized that Kita’s apartment was likely the same layout as Tooru’s.

Kita returned a moment later with a folded kitchen towel in one hand and a Ziploc bag filled with ice in the other. He glanced at Tooru once for approval, and, when Tooru nodded, carefully unfolded the towel and draped it across Tooru’s exposed knee. Once he was satisfied with the towel’s placement, he gently positioned the ice on top of it, murmuring a soft apology in response to Tooru’s quiet hiss of pain. 

“You’re good at this,” Tooru said, eyeing Kita curiously. 

Kita hummed softly. “I was in volleyball,” he replied, straightening up and turning to look at Tooru. “I’ve treated a lot of injuries.”

“Volleyball, huh?” Tooru asked. They gestured to the empty chairs in the living room. “Feel free to take a seat now that we’re done playing nurse and patient.”

Kita hummed again. “Captain of my team in high school,” he said, and there was a slightly proud smile on his face now. “I took ‘em to nationals.”

A bitter seed planted itself in Tooru’s heart, though they tried to ignore it. “You don’t say.” 

“I was never all that good at it,” Kita admitted. “At least, not compared to my teammates. But the rest of ‘em? Oh, they were great.” His smile turned a bit sad. “I just wish I could’ve gotten to be proud of ‘em a little longer.” 

“Oh,” Tooru breathed. The seed was gone, after that; it was hard to stay mad at someone so earnest and genuine, someone who was simply proud of his friends and teammates and wasn’t trying to show off in the slightest. “I was captain of my team, too.”

“I think I remember ya,” Kita said, nodding. “From one of Atsumu’s volleyball magazines.” 

Tooru raised an eyebrow again. “Atsumu?” There was someone with that given name popping up in the university-level volleyball leagues, circulating even in Tokyo despite the fact that he wasn’t based there. Tooru remembered him, though they hadn’t had the chance to play him before—

“Yes,” Kita replied. “Miya Atsumu. He and his twin were my underclassmen.”

So, it  _ was  _ the Atsumu that Tooru suspected. “You said you were captain?” Tooru asked. Kita nodded. “Why’d you give it up?”

Kita’s eyes turned distant. He rubbed his thumb along the hem of his too-long sweater sleeves, lost in thought for a moment. “It was never somethin’ I loved. Not like the others.” 

“Ah,” Tooru said, for lack of anything else to say. They didn’t fully understand, though; it was hard for them to wrap their mind around someone who  _ didn’t  _ love volleyball as wholly as they and everyone else they knew did. Even Iwaizumi, who decided against going pro, was still going to pursue a career within the volleyball world as a sports trainer. 

“You don’t get it,” Kita guessed, a slight smile on his face. Tooru’s cheeks heated up, and they averted their eyes to fiddle with the ice pack just slightly as it had slid off of their knee. “‘S okay. Ya don’t have to.” 

Tooru didn’t know what to say to that. Kita, in general, seemed to be good at leaving Tooru speechless; he had watched Tooru fall down the stairs and struggle with an injury all without so much a gleam of curiosity in his eyes, and he told Tooru about his old teammates and his old volleyball team without a tinge of regret or bitterness or egoism, and on top of it all he was completely understanding to how  _ much  _ Tooru loved volleyball. Tooru had never met anybody quite like Kita before. They didn’t know what to make of him. 

“What position did ya play in high school?” Kita asked, drawing Tooru out of their thoughts. 

“Setter,” Tooru replied. “And captain.”

Kita nodded, as though he were filing the information away in his mind. Another thing Tooru noticed—Kita never talked about volleyball  _ now.  _ He said nothing about what had become of his teammates, said nothing of whether he did or didn’t miss the sport, and he didn’t ask anything about Tooru’s volleyball career. Tooru couldn’t tell if Kita was just that perceptive and considerate, or if it was a miraculous coincidence that Tooru never had to acknowledge the nightmares plaguing them at night about their prematurely ended volleyball career.

Kita glanced at his phone, then stood. “I have a shift at the shop soon,” he said. “This was nice. Thank you for havin’ me.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Tooru replied. “I’d offer to walk you to the door, but…” They trailed off. Kita chuckled, heading for the door all on his own. 

“Nice meetin’ ya, Oikawa,” he said, waving slightly, and then he was gone, and Tooru was alone again. 

Tooru was alone again, but for the first time in weeks, the  _ alone-ness  _ didn’t feel quite as crushing as  _ loneliness. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday friends! hope u like todays chap :>
> 
> mmm my dog went to the vet today and shes sittin on the bed w me rn and she smells like cinnamon,, just wanted to share that bit of niceness w u all
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time !!


	3. Chapter 3

Shinsuke was cooking dinner when there was a knock on his door. He frowned and turned to look over his shoulder at the door, wondering who it could be, when the knocking came again. Wiping his hands on a towel, Shinsuke headed for the door and pulled it open, only to see Oikawa standing on the other side looking shaken.

“Are you alright?” Shinsuke asked.

Oikawa stared at him, then shook their head and blurted. “I found a spider in my apartment!” 

Shinsuke paused. “Did ya kill it?” 

Oikawa whined. “It has six more arms than me!” they protested. “And I’m crippled! It’s not a fair fight!” 

Shinsuke elected not to point out that Oikawa was about one million times the size of a spider. “Ya came here to flee, then?” 

Oikawa nodded, that same childish pout marring their features. The first day the two of them had met in the stairwell, Oikawa had been oddly pensive, as if they were lost in thought for the entire duration of their meeting. Shinsuke didn’t fault them for it, though. He was feeling pensive, too, most of the time. As much as he would’ve liked it to, moving to the city hadn’t really managed to get rid of the feeling that someone was clinging to his shoulders at all hours of the day, watching him and haunting him and drowning him in everything he was trying to get away from.

“C’mon in, then,” Shinsuke said. “I’m almost finished with dinner.” 

Oikawa followed Shinsuke into the apartment, taking a seat at his kitchen table and resting their crutches against the wall behind them. Shinsuke plated two servings of the meal, then carried it over to the table. Oikawa thanked him for the food before the two of them began to eat, a semi-comfortable silence falling over them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but they hadn’t known each other long enough to be truly comfortable. 

Shinsuke considered starting a conversation, but decided against it. If Oikawa wanted to talk, Shinsuke would listen and respond, but he wouldn’t go out of his way. 

“So,” Oikawa finally said, once they’d finished their food. They ate faster than Shinsuke, or maybe Shinsuke was just a slow eater, for he still had half his meal left. He wasn’t all that hungry as of late, hadn’t had his usual appetite since— “What brings you to the city?” 

Shinsuke choked on his food. Oikawa’s eyes widened, and they reached out as if they wanted to help but knew they wouldn’t be able to grab their crutches and maneuver themself over to Shinsuke in a timely manner. Shinsuke took a sip of his water, swallowing the bite of food he’d accidentally inhaled, before he lowered his glass and ignored the tremor that had suddenly overtaken his hand.

Oikawa shifted awkwardly as they lapsed into silence yet again. “I’m—sorry. Did I overstep?” 

“No,” Shinsuke said, and he didn’t like the odd note in his voice. “‘S fine.” 

Oikawa gazed at him a moment longer, before they sighed and rested their chin on their fist, glaring at the tabletop. “You know, I used to be  _ such  _ a social butterfly.” They paused, furrowing their eyebrows. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened to me.”

Shinsuke sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow. “Seriously?  _ You?”  _

Shinsuke frowned. “What d’ya mean?” 

Oikawa waved a hand. “I can’t see you as an outgoing person, Kita.”

“I wasn’t,” Shinsuke agreed. “But I was better than this.” Oikawa didn’t need to know that Shinsuke hadn’t messaged any of his friends since the day he found out. Oikawa didn’t need to know that Shinsuke had isolated himself so completely and totally that he didn’t even know how to  _ be  _ social anymore, much less apologize to the friends who had deserved better than what Shinsuke had given them. 

Oikawa hummed under their breath. “I guess we can just be lost together, then.” 

Shinsuke turned his gaze down to the food on his plate. He suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. 

-

Tooru left the physical therapy building only to find that it had snowed while they were at their appointment. Huffing, they pulled the scarf up higher on their face and hurried home as fast as their crutches would carry them, as fat snowflakes drifted to the ground and rapidly freezing patches of ice formed an obstacle course that Tooru wasn’t in the mood to fight with. It took them an extra twenty minutes to get home that day thanks to the changes they had to make to their route, and by the time they arrived back in the lobby of their apartment building, they could barely feel the tip of their nose. Tooru hated winter, and they especially hated winter here in the city, where the snow turned grey and dirty after barely five minutes on the ground. At least back home, the snow had been pristine and pretty. 

Kita was standing in the lobby when Tooru arrived, bundled in a coat, scarf, and mittens. He had a small messenger back slung crossbody over his shoulder and resting on his opposite hip, his hands holding onto the strap in front of his chest as he stared out the window with a distant look on his face. Tooru glanced between Kita and the window, frowning. 

“Kita?” they called. “Everything okay?”

Kita startled out of his reverie, glancing around the lobby until his eyes fell on Tooru standing near the stairwell. “Oh,” he said, and his voice sounded funny. “Hello, Oikawa. How was physical therapy?”

“Shitty and tiring,” Tooru replied, waving a dismissive hand. “But I’m more worried about you. What’s with the creepy staring?”

Kita glanced back at the window, his face hardening slightly. No, that was the wrong word. His face was still calm, still gentle. It just looked as though a shadow had passed over it, casting all the gentle curves and slopes in sharp relief and sharper angles. Tooru didn’t like it.

Tooru hesitated, looking between Kita’s face and the bag at his side. It looked like there was schoolwork in the bag, like he was going to class, but it also looked like the last thing Kita needed was to go anywhere that wasn’t home or somewhere else safe. Making a snap decision, Tooru asked, “Do you want to come up with me? I think I have hot chocolate.” 

Kita blinked, slowly turning his head to look at Tooru. His eyes seemed glassy—fuck, was he going to cry?

“Come on,” Tooru said softly. They reached out a hand, watching as Kita drifted over to them to take their hand. Tooru squeezed his hand, Maneuvering their crutches to lead the two of them up to their apartment. They spent the trek up the stairs in silence, and Tooru set Kita up on their couch once the two of them were inside, before going to the kitchen to fetch a mug and a packet of instant hot chocolate. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but Tooru figured it would be better than nothing. 

A few minutes later, Tooru returned to the living room and found Kita curled up on the couch, his shoes on the floor in front of it as he sat with his knees pulled close to his chest, his bag squeezed between his knees and his torso. His arms were wrapped tightly around his shins, his chin resting in the dip between his kneecaps as he stared unblinking at Tooru’s living room carpet. 

Tooru sat down and set the mug down on the coffee table, resting their crutches against the couch. They reached out and nudged Kita’s leg, a soft crease between their furrowed eyebrows. “Hey,” they said. “Hey, Kita.”

Kita strengthened his grip on his knees, burying his face deeper out of sight and curling in tighter around himself. 

Tooru frowned, curling their fingers into a fist where their hand rested near Kita’s legs. They paused, unsure what to do in this situation, unsure how they could help. 

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Tooru murmured. “But I don’t know how to help you.” Kita said nothing, though Tooru heard him sniffle. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Kita shook his head. 

Tooru bit their lip. “Do you want me to touch you?”

Kita hesitated, then nodded. Tooru scooted down on the couch to sit next to Kita, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him in close to press their sides together. Kita didn’t uncurl, not yet, but he inclined his head toward Tooru’s shoulder. 

Tooru didn’t speak again after that, just smoothed soft circles into the fabric of Kita’s peacoat sleeve as they watched the snow falling outside their window. Kita sniffled every once in a while, but other than that, the two of them were silent.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Kita lifted his head just slightly and leaned it on Tooru’s shoulder. His two-toned hair tickled the crook of Tooru’s neck, but Tooru didn’t dare move.

“I think I want to use they/them pronouns now,” Kita breathed, their voice barely audible in the already silent room. Tooru was careful not to falter, was careful not to show any external reaction that might scare Kita. 

“Okay,” they said. Kita pressed a little closer to Tooru, and Tooru felt some of the tension drain out of their frame. Not all of it, but it was a start. “Is that all?” Tooru asked.

Kita paused for a moment, then nodded. Tooru could feel their cheek brushing up against Tooru’s shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me,” Tooru murmured. They considered their next words carefully, before they added, “We can be nonbinary buddies now.”

Tooru could feel the smallest of smiles spreading across Kita’s face. “Okay,” they whispered. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am feeling many things. i edited this with i dreamed a dream from les mis on repeat which was a mistake 
> 
> anyway. nby kita agenda
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time


	4. Chapter 4

Shinsuke had always felt a strange twisting in their stomach when they contemplated gender. They’d always hated it, always hated being called  _ he  _ and  _ boy  _ and anything of the sort, but they’d never really given it much thought and then  _ it  _ happened, and everything else troubling them had been shifted to the back burner. 

And then they’d moved to the city, and they’d met Oikawa, and suddenly the itching beneath their skin was unavoidable. 

They’d known, logically, that Oikawa would never dismiss them or reject them for something like this, but the act of saying it out loud had still been hard. 

Shinsuke sighed and tipped their head back to stare at the grooves in the ceiling, tracing the edges of a barely-visible water stain as their mind circled on an endless loop. Their phone buzzed in their pocket, and Shinsuke wondered who it would be, who they’d have to ignore. Everything would be much easier if they didn’t have to hide, if they knew how to talk to people who knew them in the  _ before,  _ now that they were living in the  _ after.  _ After their grandmother died, after they moved away, after they realized who they really were.

Their phone buzzed again and again, insistent. Shinsuke frowned and glanced down at it, losing the thread of their thought as they were distracted. Oikawa’s name flashed across the screen, and Shinsuke swiped to answer the call. 

“Hello?” they asked, only a little confused. Oikawa almost never called, said that texting was so much easier because they had punctuation and emoticons to use.

_ “Are you doing anything today?”  _ Oikawa asked.

“No,” Shinsuke told them. “I don’t have class on Saturdays.” 

_ “Excellent,”  _ Oikawa replied, only sounding a little bit like they had a nefarious scheme Shinsuke wasn’t sure they really wanted to be a part of. “ _ Let’s go shopping.”  _

Shinsuke frowned slightly. “Is there somethin’ ya need from the store?” 

Oikawa scoffed. Shinsuke didn’t have to see them to know they were rolling their eyes. “ _ Just so you know, I’m rolling my eyes right now. You don’t need a reason to go shopping! Shopping is fun.”  _

Shinsuke paused. Normally, they didn’t consider shopping a fun outing, or even anything more than a necessary evil. But—they also normally went shopping on their own. It was Saturday, and for once it wasn’t snowy and cloudy, and they had nothing better to do, so they said, “Okay. What time?”

Oikawa was quiet for a moment. “ _ Oh, shit. I didn’t actually think you’d say yes. Does thirty minutes work?”  _

“That’s fine,” Shinsuke agreed. 

Oikawa cheers. “ _ Yay! I’ll pick you up in thirty!”  _ The line clicked, and then it went dead. Shinsuke lowered their phone, running a hand through their hair as they turned to stare at their closet. Despite the sun, it was supposed to be fairly cold, so Shinsuke was careful to dress accordingly. 

Thirty minutes later on the dot, there was a quick, rhythmic knock on Shinsuke’s door as Shinsuke was finishing knotting their scarf. They crossed to open the door, giving Oikawa a small nod as greeting. Oikawa was dressed far nicer than Shinsuke, wearing a short, maroon pencil skirt and black tights as well as ankle boots. Shinsuke couldn’t see what kind of shirt they were wearing underneath their coat, but they assumed it was equally as nice. Standing in front of Oikawa, Shinsuke felt a little underdressed.

“Hi-hi, Shin-chan!” Oikawa greeted, curling their fingertips in a cheerful wave. Shinsuke paused, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shin-chan?” they echoed. 

“That’s you,” Oikawa chirped, grinning. “We’re nonbinary buddies! Nonbinary buddies need nicknames!”

Shinsuke floundered. “I don’t have a nickname for you.” 

Oikawa linked elbows with them. “That’s okay,” they said. “Nicknames are my thing, anyway.”

“Okay,” Shinsuke agreed. “Are ya ready to go?”

“Yup!” Oikawa said. “C’mon, let’s go!” Shinsuke allowed Oikawa to lead them out of the apartment and toward the stairs, following down behind them as they descended to the ground floor. Once there, Oikawa led Shinsuke out of the apartment complex and onto the frosted streets of the city, their breath coming out as misty clouds against the frozen air. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Shinsuke watching the ground for ice patches as Oikawa seemed to expertly maneuver around them. 

Before Shinsuke knew it, Oikawa had stopped outside a small boutique filled with, from what Shinsuke could make out, pastel clothing as far as the eye could see. Shinsuke didn’t bother looking for the name of the store, just followed Oikawa inside. Oikawa seemed excited to be here, their eyes alight as they grinned at Shinsuke. 

“I’m gonna pick out an outfit for you, Shin-chan,” Oikawa declared. “And you pick something for me.” 

Shinsuke blanched. “Are ya sure?” they asked. “I’m not as fashionable as you.” 

Oikawa’s expression shifted as they feigned bashfulness in response to Shinsuke’s words. “Aw, Shin-chan, you flatter me.” After a moment, they snickered and patted the top of Shinsuke’s head. “It’s okay! I have faith in you!” With that, they disappeared further into the boutique, leaving Shinsuke on their own. Shinsuke glanced around, suddenly intimidated by the racks upon racks of pastel clothes all around them. 

Eventually, though, they started to sift through the clothes, searching for something Oikawa might like. They seemed to lean toward a more high-end fashion sense, looking like they were dressed up even when they were just going to the grocery store. Shinsuke avoided baggier items, knowing Oikawa wasn’t fond of the excess fabric. 

In the end, finding a nice outfit that sort of went together wasn’t nearly as hard as Shinsuke had been fearing. Oikawa complained and ranted about fashion a lot, so Shinsuke just did their best to remember everything Oikawa had told them and went from there. Once they’d finished picking out the outfit, they headed toward the agreed meet-up spot: the fitting rooms at the back of the store. There were only two, thanks to the store’s relatively small size, and Shinsuke noted that both of them appeared empty. Oikawa was already waiting for them, a folded selection of clothes balanced in one hand while they texted with the other. They looked up as Shinsuke approached, grinning and tucking their phone into the pocket of their jacket. 

“Shin-chan!” they greeted. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve picked out for me.” 

Shinsuke presented the pile of clothes to Oikawa, trading off for the one Oikawa had been holding. “I hope ya like it,” they said. Oikawa waved a hand. 

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” they assured, already heading into the fitting room. Shinsuke hesitated before they went into the other fitting room, making sure the door was locked behind them before they began to strip off their coat and scarf and mittens. Once they’d hung their coat and scarf on the hook attached to the door, their mittens tucked into either pocket of their coat, they turned back to see what Oikawa had picked out for them. They blanched upon unfolding the clothes, though, for Oikawa had picked a  _ skirt.  _ A  _ skirt,  _ of all things. 

Laid out, the outfit wasn’t even that bad. In fact, it was actually quite cute. The only problem was that it was a  _ skirt,  _ and Shinsuke had never worn a skirt in their life. 

“Yahoo, Shin-chan,” came Oikawa’s lilting voice from outside the fitting room, and Shinsuke nearly jumped out of their skin. “The outfit I picked wasn’t that complicated. Aren’t you done yet?” 

Shinsuke tensed. “Uh—just a second.” Swallowing any of their apprehension, Shinsuke stepped out of their pants and pulled on the skirt, fastening it around their waist where it zipped and clasped near the hip. They pulled off their own shirt next, tugging the sweater Oikawa had picked out over their head before quickly stepping out of the fitting room without so much as a glance in the mirror to see how they looked. 

Oikawa was waiting outside the fitting rooms when Shinsuke stepped out, fully dressed in the outfit Shinsuke had chosen. Shinsuke had chosen something a bit more casual than what Oikawa tended to wear, pairing a pair of light wash, straight-cut jeans with a pastel rainbow silky, fitted shirt that had a deeply cut v-neckline, as well as puffed sleeves that tapered into tightly fitted, buttoned cuffs about halfway down the forearm. The waist section on the shirt was tight and buttoned too, while the chest was a bit looser. Oikawa had cuffed the legs of their pants, standing bare-footed in the fitting room area as they’d previously been wearing tights that wouldn’t have matched the outfit. All in all, they looked great. Shinsuke tugged a little self-consciously at the waistband of their skirt, clearing their throat to get Oikawa’s attention. 

Oikawa glanced over and grinned. “Ah, Shin-chan, you’re wearing it wrong!” they chided, coming closer and reaching out to adjust the way the sweater had been positioned near the waist of the skirt. The sweater was a size or two too big, but Shinsuke liked the way it fit—the sleeves weren’t oppressive or itchy like most long-sleeved shirts tended to be. 

“There,” Oikawa said, once they’d finished. “You look great.” 

Shinsuke hummed. “So do you.”

Oikawa grinned, tilting their head to the side. “How’s it feel?” 

Shinsuke raised an eyebrow. “How does what feel?” 

Oikawa gestured wordlessly to the skirt. Shinsuke could feel their cheeks heat up some, a touch flustered. 

“I didn’t look,” they admitted. Oikawa gasped theatrically, grabbing Shinsuke by the hand and dragging them back into the fitting room. They placed their hands on Shinsuke’s shoulders, holding Shinsuke in place in front of the full-length mirror mounted to the wall of the fitting room. 

“You have to  _ look,”  _ Oikawa insisted. “Or else, it won’t feel as good.”

Shinsuke frowned, but did as told, turning to look at their own reflection in the mirror. As soon as they caught sight of themself, they stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. The skirt Oikawa had picked out was a long maroon skirt, made of what felt like suede. The hem fell to mid-calf, just above their ankles, and flared out slightly in an A-shape. The sweater was a deep charcoal grey, oversized and baggy where it fell around their torso and their arms, its collar being the mock-neck style. 

It looked— _ good.  _ Shinsuke hadn’t been expecting it when they put it on, but something about the skirt and the way it just barely brushed up against their thighs, the way it hugged their waist just so, felt  _ right.  _

“So?” Oikawa asked, leaning down slightly. Shinsuke made eye contact with them in the mirror. “Was I right?”

“Yeah,” Shinsuke breathed. “You were right.” 

Oikawa preened. “Of course, Shin-chan. I’m always right.”

Shinsuke huffed a breathy laugh. 

Oikawa straightened up. “Okay, Shin-chan, I’m off to go change!” they declared. They waved, winking at Shinsuke in the mirror. “See you in a few.” 

Shinsuke watched them go, then turned back to their reflection. They knew they had to take the skirt off, but—

Leaving it on for a few more seconds couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am: soft
> 
> happy almost halloween to all of u ghosts and goblins who celebrate !! i am wearing a skeleton shirt to celebrate bc i have to work tomorrow :,<
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time !


	5. Chapter 5

Tooru had been expecting a phone call from Kita, which was the whole reason why they answered the phone without glancing at the Caller ID when it started to buzz on the kitchen table. Tapping the option for speaker phone, Tooru set the phone back down and resumed massaging their knee, humming softly under their breath. 

“ _ You actually answered,”  _ a gruff voice said after a moment passed in silence, and Tooru stiffened. They glanced down at their phone, only to see Iwaizumi’s contact name glaring up at them. “ _ Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding my calls? Don’t think I don’t know that you turned off read receipts on your phone just so I wouldn’t know when you ignored me.”  _

Tooru laughed nervously. “Iwa-chan,” they said. “How’s America?”

“ _ Cut the bullshit, Shittykawa,”  _ Iwaizumi snapped. “ _ What the fuck is going on with you lately? Not only are you ignoring me, but Makki and Mattsun too!” _

“I’m not ignoring anybody,” Tooru defended, reaching for the ice pack, only for their hand to spasm suddenly and knock the pack halfway across the room. Tooru cursed under their breath, moving to stand up. 

_ “Shittykawa?”  _ Iwaizumi called. 

“Just a second, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied, voice saccharine-sweet as they used the edge of the table to lead themself over to the ice pack on the floor. They had hobbled about halfway over to the ice pack when they felt something wet seep into their sock, and they frowned, only to see that there was water on the floor in a trail leading from the table to the ice pack. Tooru paused for less than a second, wondering if it was worth the risk of falling to not have to go back and get their crutches. Even if they’d had their crutches, there was no promise the crutch wouldn’t slide out from under them like it had the day they’d met Kita, so Tooru steeled their nerves and walked carefully away from the table, allowing their fingertips to trail along the edge until it was too far away to reach. 

Walking without an aid was significantly harder when Tooru was stranded in the middle of their kitchen, their leg propped out straight in front of them to avoid aggravating the already aching knee. PT was getting harder and harder, and the dismal weather all day long had only exacerbated the stinging pain. Tooru’s knee always acted up when it was raining, even back in high school when it was just a sprain.

“Alright, Tooru, you can do this,” they murmured, ignoring the sound of Iwaizumi calling their name crackling through the phone’s speaker. Slowly, carefully, they took a step forward, then another, and another, and then their foot slid out from under them and they were suddenly lying on their back on their kitchen floor. Tooru cried out, curling up and clutching their knee, the knee that was screaming and burning and  _ aching.  _ Iwaizumi sounded frantic through the phone, and Tooru wondered just how much of that he’d been able to pick up. 

Tooru registered the distant sound of someone knocking on their door, and they called out a weak, “It’s open.” A moment later, the door clicked open and closed and soft footsteps padded down the hall toward the kitchen, stuttering to a stop in the entrance. Tooru glanced up, only to see Kita standing in their kitchen, clad in mismatched socks, a skirt, and the biggest hoodie Tooru had ever seen them wearing. They looked tired, but their eyebrows were pinched with worry. 

Kita stepped forward to crouch next to Tooru, deftly avoiding the puddles of water on the floor. “What happened?” they asked. Their drawling accent became even more noticeable when they were worried. 

“I slipped,” Tooru grunted, reaching out for Kita’s arm to brace themself. Kita helped bring them to a sitting position, then slowly the two of them worked their way up to standing. Tooru sucked in a sharp breath, leaning nearly all of their weight on Kita, one of their arms draped around Kita’s shoulder. Kita buckled slightly, their shorter stature not made to support an athlete who was much taller than they were, but they steadied themself quickly and started toward the table. “No,” Tooru muttered. “Couch.” 

Kita redirected their path easily, bringing Tooru to the couch and helping them prop up their aching knee on several throw pillows. “‘M goin’ to get ice,” they told Tooru, disappearing back into the kitchen. Tooru leaned their head back, exhaling slowly in an effort to calm their racing heart. For a moment, they had been genuinely terrified; the hard part of living alone while injured was that if they ever fell, if they ever relapsed their injury, if anything bad ever happened to them at all—they’d be entirely on their own. It was lucky Kita had appeared when they had, lucky that Iwaizumi had been on the phone. If Kita hadn’t showed up, Tooru might’ve begged Iwaizumi to call Hanamaki or Matsukawa, even though they then would’ve had to explain why Ushijima wasn’t around to help them. 

Kita returned a few minutes later with a kitchen towel, a fresh ice pack, and Tooru’s phone all balanced in one hand. They were carefully holding the phone away from the ice, propping it between two fingers as they headed over to the couch and crouched down, setting to work icing Tooru’s knee.

“I muted the mic when I picked it up,” Kita said, handing Tooru the phone. “But ya might wanna talk to ‘em.”

Tooru unmuted the mic and took the phone off of speaker, holding the receiver up to their ear. “Iwa-chan,” they started. 

“ _ Fucking finally!”  _ Iwaizumi snapped. “ _ What the fuck just happened? Why did you disappear? Why did you scream?”  _

“One question at a time please, Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied, rubbing their forehead. “The sound of your voice is giving me a headache.” 

_ “Fuck you,”  _ Iwaizumi huffed.  _ “I don’t even know why I bother.” _

Tooru frowned, their gaze falling on Kita sitting on the floor beside the couch, their head tipped back and their eyes staring, unseeing, up at Tooru’s ceiling. Tooru glanced at the ice pack propped carefully on their injured knee. “Yeah,” they mumbled. “I don’t know either.”

Iwaizumi was quiet for several moments.  _ “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on with you? It’s shitty to make me worry about you when I’m a thousand miles away, Shittykawa.” _

“It’s actually six-thousand miles,” Tooru told him. “But good guess.”

_ “You’re the worst,”  _ Iwaizumi declared. “ _ Quit shutting us out, dipshit. I’m not gonna make you talk to me today, but—would you just stop isolating yourself?” _

“Sure,” Tooru agreed, mumbling a quiet goodbye and hanging up the phone. They dropped their arm once the line went dead, the limb falling like dead weight next to the couch. Their phone made a loud clattering noise when Tooru released it, startling Kita out of whatever reverie they’d been caught up in. Kita turned to look up at them, but they didn’t say anything. They were waiting, Tooru realized. Waiting for Tooru to talk, because Tooru always spoke first. 

Today was no different. Tooru covered their face with their arm, closing their eyes and sliding back further down the couch cushions. Kita gently repositioned the ice pack to go with Tooru’s knee, and Tooru’s heart warmed at the gesture. Kita really was too kind for them. “I’m a shitty friend,” Tooru declared, loudly. 

Kita was quiet. Tooru peeked at them from beneath their arm, but Kita’s face was—as always—unreadable.

“This is the part where you disagree,” Tooru told them. “And make me feel better about my sad, miserable life.”

Kita hummed. “I was waitin’,” they said. 

Tooru grunted. “For what?”

“For ya to explain why ya think ya aren’t a good friend,” Kita told them. 

“Oh,” Tooru sighed. “I just—I went through some shit, Shin-chan. I went through some shit, and I thought I’d grown as a person since high school but apparently I haven’t because I’m doing the same fucking self-destructive tendendcies and isolating myself the same fucking way I always have.” Tooru sucked in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly against the onslaught of tears threatening to spill over. “I’m a shitty friend. My friends deserve better than what I’ve given them.”

Kita didn’t say anything for several moments. Tooru almost thought they weren’t going to respond again, but then they spoke, their voice quiet and tone soft. It was almost a whisper, just barely hanging in the balance between a murmur and their normal talking volume. “I don’t think yer a bad friend.”

Tooru scoffed. “Tell that to all the people I’ve been ignoring for a month and a half. My friends—they all deserve better than that.”

“Maybe,” Kita said, “but—ya said it yerself, didn’t you? You went through somethin’ hard. It’s okay if ya don’t know how to give yer friends any more than what you have.” 

“But to give them  _ nothing?”  _ Tooru asked, frowning so deep it made the muscles in their jaw protest.

Kita pulled their knees up to their chest, wrapping their arms around them and burying their face in their knees. “People ain’t wired for hardship,” they said, their voice muffled by the fabric of their skirt.

Tooru sighed. “Can’t we just accept I’m a bad friend and leave it at that? I’m sick of arguing my point.” 

“No!” Kita exclaimed. Tooru startled, sitting up slightly and jostling their knee. They didn’t pay the pain any mind, too distracted by how tense Kita had suddenly become. Tooru had never heard their friend lose their cool like that in all the time they’d known Kita. Kita took a deep breath and uncurled their fists. Tooru watched some of the tension bleed from their body. “I won’t accept that yer a bad friend,” Kita said softly, their voice level once more. “Because you have been a very good friend to me.”

“Oh,” Tooru breathed. 

The two of them lapsed into silence, as Kita curled in on themself again and turned their head away from Tooru’s face. Tooru tipped their head back to stare blankly at the ceiling, unsure what to do now. 

After a while, Tooru sighed and scrubbed a hand down their face. “I think I’m a little bit in love with Iwa-chan,” they said. “Which is weird. Because I’m supposed to be hung up on my ex, right?”

Kita turned to look at them, blinking. “Why should ya be hung up on yer ex?”

“Because he’s a douche canoe,” Tooru replied flippantly. They paused, pressing their lips into a thin line. “And I miss him.”

Kita said nothing. 

Tooru turned their head, staring out at the apartment. All of Ushijima’s things were still there, all of the knick-knacks he’d purchased and all of the clothes he’d left behind. Tooru tried to imagine the apartment without all of his stuff, tried to imagine their life without a single trace of Ushijima’s presence, and all they could picture was an empty void with Tooru at the center of it, achingly alone.

“I hate him,” Tooru murmured. “I hate him so much for what he did to me. But I also—I miss him  _ so much.  _ And it’s not  _ fair.  _ I don’t want to love him, I don’t want to miss him, I want to jump for joy that he’s gone, but I couldn’t do that even if I wasn’t pathetically hung up on the asshole who dumped me a week after my entire life fell apart, because my knee is fucked beyond belief.”

Kita hesitated, opening and closing their mouth once or twice before they closed their mouth again, their eyebrows furrowed as they considered their words. “He lived here?” they finally asked. Tooru grunted. “For how long?”

“Six months,” Tooru replied. “He moved in after we’d been dating for three.”

Kita hummed, pressing their lips into a thin line. 

“I already lived here before,” Tooru continued. They weren’t sure why they were telling Kita all of this, weren't sure why they were opening up when they’d kept everything under tight wraps since it happened, but now that they’d started, they couldn’t stop. “He moved in here because it was close to campus.” They paused, a faint smile gracing their lips. “He bought bedsheets when he decided to move in. Because he knew that this place was  _ mine,  _ and he wanted something to be  _ ours.”  _

Kita placed their hand on Tooru’s calf, a comforting weight and a reminder of where Tooru was, despite the onslaught of memories going through their mind. 

“He was always doing stupid things like that,” Tooru said. “He was stupid and bland and he bought bedsheets and shitty tea and he liked to wash the dishes in pairs and he’d have me tear the ads out of the Shounen Jump because he wanted to read them but not the manga. And I hate him, I hate that he left me and he left all of this and he just  _ left,  _ but I also—I don’t know how to live without him.”

Kita squeezed Tooru’s calf. Tooru was getting the feeling that Kita didn’t know what to say, or how to respond, but they didn’t mind. They appreciated that Kita was listening to them all the same.

“He left me,” Tooru whispered, their eyes stinging. “A week after I lost everything. I think—I think a small part of me had been expecting it, I’ve always known I’m an idiot who never knows when to quit, but—”

“Ya didn’t expect to lose him, too,” Kita finished, their voice solemn. “I’m very sorry this has happened to ya, Oikawa.”

Tooru shrugged, swiping at their eyes to get rid of the tears. “I probably deserved it.”

“No,” Kita said sternly. “You did not deserve this.”

“Then why the fuck did it happen?” Tooru demanded. Kita flinched back slightly at their outburst, and Tooru felt a small pang of regret twinge their gut. Kita didn’t deserve that, especially not when they were being so nice and patient with Tooru. “Fuck,” Tooru muttered. “Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Kita said. 

“No, it’s not,” Tooru refuted. “You didn’t deserve that, that was totally uncalled for.” Tooru huffed a frustrated breath. “I really can’t help but be a shitty friend to everyone, can I?”

“I don’t think yer a shitty friend,” Kita said. “I think ya’ve been hurt. And yer tryin’ yer best to heal, but—it’s hard.” Kita paused, a distant look coming over their face. Not for the first time, Tooru wondered what  _ really  _ brought Kita to the city. They had a feeling it was more than a job in a flower shop and a university transfer. “I think sometimes it feels worse to heal than it does to get hurt in the first place.”

Tooru pressed their lips into a thin line, fidgeting with their fingertips for a moment. They really hated the expression Kita had on their face, that one they wore when they were lost in thought or when Tooru hadn’t been paying attention and Kita got caught up in something Tooru didn’t know anything about.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Tooru started. Kita turned to look at them. “Or do you wanna watch a movie?” 

Kita’s face softened into something more relaxed, and some of the shadows receded from their eyes. “A movie, please,” they said. Tooru grinned, already reaching for the remote. 

“As you wish,” Tooru drawled, mock-serious in a ridiculously fake, posh accent. Kita snickered at them, as Tooru made room for them on the couch and tugged a blanket from the folded pile hanging over the armrest. 

“Let’s watch that one,” Kita said, settling the blanket over their laps and helping Tooru elevate their knee on the coffee table. “ _ Princess Bride.”  _

“Okay,” Tooru agreed. “I’ll see if I can find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. yall been on the internet in the last three days
> 
> cause fuck man
> 
> shits wild
> 
> anyway be gay do crime see u next time B)


	6. Chapter 6

Shinsuke woke up at noon to the sound of the custom ringtone Oikawa had broken into Shinsuke’s phone and assigned to their contact, in addition to putting a million heart and sparkle emojis after their name. Shinsuke had rolled their eyes at Oikawa’s antics at the time, but the sight of the emojis was too endearing to change. 

The ringtone, however, was annoying enough that Shinsuke wanted to chuck their phone across the room and break it. 

Sliding open their phone, Shinsuke mumbled out a quick, “Hello?”

“ _ Shin-chan!”  _ Oikawa called. “ _ Did you just wake up? Isn’t it Tuesday? Did your class get cancelled?” _

Shinsuke rolled over and squinted up at their ceiling, realizing slowly that yes, it  _ was  _ Tuesday, and yes, Shinsuke  _ was  _ supposed to be in class four hours ago. Shinsuke sighed. “‘M havin’ an off day.”

Oikawa made a vague noise of concern. “ _ Is everything okay?”  _

Judging by the itchy feeling that had settled itself just beneath Shinsuke’s skin and the uncomfortable twisting in their gut, Shinsuke had a feeling that today was not going to get any better. “No.”

Oikawa hummed. “ _ I’m coming over! Get dressed!”  _

They hung up, leaving Shinsuke to gaze up at the ceiling for a moment longer before they heaved another sigh and rolled out of bed, immediately heading for their closet.

Shinsuke pulled out their comfort outfit—the biggest hoodie they owned and a soft skirt—and tugged it on, padding out of their bedroom with their hands tucked into the pocket of their hoodie. Their phone rested in the pocket between their hands as Shinsuke made their way out to the living room, laying down starfish-style on the floor after making sure the front door was unlocked for Oikawa. They laid there for a few moments, allowing their mind to drift and their eyes to droop, until a knock on the front door startled them out of their thoughts. 

“Yahoo!” Oikawa called from the other side of the door. “Shin-chan, I’m here!”

“It’s open,” Shinsuke called back, without bothering to lift their head up from the floor. Oikawa let themself in, closing the door behind them and approaching Shinsuke. They tilted their head to the side, staring down at Shinsuke on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” they asked. 

“Off day,” Shinsuke replied, not bothering to elaborate. Oikawa hummed, lowering themself to the floor beside Shinsuke and pulling out their phone. 

“Here,” they said. “Let’s do what I always do when I’m sad.” 

Shinsuke turned their head to look at their friend, but they didn’t bother to say anything. Oikawa unlocked their phone and tapped the screen a couple of times until they’d pulled up what looked like an online shopping site. Shinsuke frowned, watching Oikawa type something in the search bar until suddenly the page had been filled by listings for stuffed animals of every shape and size and color. 

“Stuffed animals?” Shinsuke asked, as Oikawa passed them the phone. Oikawa nodded, knocking their shoulder against Shinsuke’s. 

“Whenever I’m sad,” they said. “I scroll through stuffed animals online until I’m not sad anymore.”

Shinsuke scrolled down the page. “D’ya ever buy any?”

“Sometimes,” Oikawa hummed. “If I see a really good one.”

Shinsuke nodded, turning their attention back to the stuffed animals. Most of them were admittedly cute, and some of them reminded them of their friends. Shinsuke glanced at the name of the website and made a note to search it up later, when they were possibly in a better mood. 

Sighing, Shinsuke passed the phone back to Oikawa and stared up at the ceiling, their mind a cacophony of thoughts they couldn’t even hope to decipher. 

“What’s wrong?” Oikawa asked, also staring at the ceiling. Shinsuke gestured vaguely to their whole body, and Oikawa made an understanding noise in the back of their throat. 

“I don’t get it,” Shinsuke confessed, furrowing their brow slightly. 

Oikawa paused. “Get what?” 

Shinsuke frowned, sitting up and pulling their knees up to their chest. Oikawa sat up as well, gazing at them curiously. “I know who I am,” Shinsuke said. “I know who I want to be. I know that my body and the way people perceive me don’t make me any less nonbinary. It doesn’t make me a man. So, why do I still feel so  _ wrong?”  _

Oikawa was quiet for several moments, before they asked, “Can I touch you?” Shinsuke nodded, and then felt Oikawa press themself up against Shinsuke’s side, snaking their arms around Shinsuke’s waist in the best bear-hug someone as thin and lanky as Oikawa could manage. It was comforting, even if Oikawa was a little too skinny for a proper bear-hug. Shinsuke leaned into the embrace, closing their eyes. 

“Shit sucks, Shin-chan,” Oikawa said frankly, making Shinsuke snort. Oikawa ran a hand through Shinsuke’s hair, smoothing it down where laying on the floor had ruffled it. “I wish I could tell you this would go away, but—”

Shinsuke sighed, and leaned their head on Oikawa’s shoulder. “Shit sucks,” they echoed. Oikawa huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Yeah,” they said. “It really does.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Shinsuke confessed. Oikawa made a vague noise of confusion.

“Done what, Shin-chan?”

“Been affectionate like this,” Shinsuke explained. “With a friend.”

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Oikawa declared, tightening their grip around Shinsuke’s waist. “Why not?”

Shinsuke shrugged. “I’ve never had any friends I felt close enough to do this with,” they replied. “Most of my friends were never very touchy people, anyway.”

Oikawa hummed. “I used to be like this,” they said softly. “All the time.”

Shinsuke waited a moment to see if they would elaborate on their own before asking, “Why’d ya stop?”

A quick glance up at Oikawa’s face showed Shinsuke that Oikawa had turned pensive, a distant look in their eyes that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “I don’t know,” they admitted. “I don’t even know when I lost it. I was the clingiest in high school, and Iwa-chan complained about it to no end, but—” They paused, frowning slightly. “University was just different.”

“Why?” Shinsuke asked. They were beginning to be able to tell the difference between Oikawa’s ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ silences and their ‘I don’t know how to say this’ silences, after nearly a month and a half of friendship. This was the latter. 

“I saw my friends less,” Oikawa said. “Which I think was part of it. But—Everything felt  _ different  _ after Iwa-chan went off to America for school.” They paused again, a look of consideration on their face as they contemplated their next words. “I never needed to explain myself to Iwa-chan. He always just  _ got it,  _ and he knew when I wanted to be touched and when I wanted to be left alone and it was—” They broke off. “I don’t know. I think a part of me forgot how to be a person when I didn’t have Iwa-chan by my side. And Ushiwaka—he was never that affectionate, and I ended up spending all my time with him, between practice and being at home, and by the time I realized I had changed—it was too late to go back.” 

Shinsuke placed their hands atop Oikawa’s where they rested on Shinsuke’s midriff, squeezing slightly. Oikawa buried their face in the crown of Shinsuke’s hair. 

“My grandma died,” Shinsuke said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. 

Oikawa lifted their head. “What?”

“That’s why I moved to the city,” Sinsuke told them. “She died, and I didn’t know how to live there without her, so I left.”

“Oh,” Oikawa breathed. “Fuck. Shin-chan, I’m so sorry.” They scooted around behind Shinsuke, repositioning themself so that Shinsuke was seated in between their legs and leaning back against their chest and Oikawa could hook their chin on Shinsuke’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t realize how much of my life revolved around her,” Shinsuke mused, “‘til she was gone and I couldn’t stop seein’ her everywhere.”

Oikawa hummed. “And I didn’t realize how much of me revolved around Ushiwaka until he dumped me and I didn’t have anything left.”

Shinsuke leaned their head back against Oikawa’s shoulder, reaching up to thread their fingers through Oikawa’s hair. 

“We’re, like, the sad Breakfast Club or some shit,” Oikawa said, snickering.

Shinsuke paused. “As I recall, the Breakfast Club is already fairly sad to begin with.” 

“Okay, fine,” Oikawa said. “The Breakfast Club, but worse.”

“Breakfast Club Two: Electric Boogaloo,” Shinsuke murmured. Oikawa burst out laughing, jostling Shinsuke and burying their face in Shinsuke’s shoulder as they laughed. Shinsuke chuckled too, grinning down at what little they could see of Oikawa in their peripheral vision.

“Thank you,” Shinsuke said honestly. Oikawa let out a hum or curiosity. 

“For what?” 

Shinsuke patted Oikawa’s hand. “For coming. I feel better.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Shin-chan,” Oikawa drawled. “Eye candy, comedic relief, and comfort all wrapped into one.”

“Quite the package,” Shinsuke said, unable to keep the amused grin off of their face. 

Oikawa nodded. “It’s hard being this perfect, but I make it work.” 

Shinsuke just laughed, prompting Oikawa to squawk in mock-offense and squeeze Shinsuke’s middle. 

“I’m perfect! Admit it,” they demanded. 

“I don’t know about perfect,” Shinsuke said, calming down slightly. “But ya aren’t half bad.” 

Oikawa hooked their chin over Shinsuke’s shoulder again, snuggling a little closer as they made a small noise of contentment. “I’m perfect and you know it.” 

“Whatever helps ya sleep at night,” Shinsuke hummed.

Oikawa squeezed their middle again. “Shin-chan mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [through tears] i just think theyre neat
> 
> chapter 6 aka i out myself as touch starved and desperate for physical affection thru my two comfort characters lmao
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time!


	7. Chapter 7

“Isn’t it a little late in the season for hot chocolate?” Kita asked, wrinkling their nose as they followed Tooru into the cafe. Tooru scoffed loudly, approaching the counter. The slight heel on their boots clicked softly against the cafe’s linoleum tile, Kita padding along silently behind them. 

“Hot chocolate doesn’t  _ expire,  _ Shin-chan,” they retorted. “It’s always the right time for hot chocolate.” 

Kita said nothing, just stuck their hands in the pockets of their coat and stood quietly behind Tooru in the cashier’s line. Tooru ordered quickly when it was their turn, and together the two of them migrated over to the waiting area near the other end of the counter. 

“What should we do after this?” Tooru asked, tipping their head back to study the grooves in the ceiling tiles for a moment before they shifted their gaze over to Kita standing at their side. Kita shrugged without glancing up at them, watching the employees prepare their order. 

“You were the one who dragged me out,” they pointed out. “I assumed ya had a plan.”

“Ah, but you know what they say about assumptions, Shin-chan,” Tooru sing-songed, stepping forward to retrieve their drinks when the barista slid them across the counter. Kita bid the barista a quick thanks before the two of them left the cafe, wandering aimlessly down the street in the general direction of their apartment complex. 

Tooru was in the middle of a story from last week’s physical therapy session when a familiar voice behind them called, “Oikawa.” 

  
Tooru stopped short, their blood running cold as they recognized the voice calling their name. Kita stopped as well, glancing over Tooru’s shoulder at the person who had spoken. “Oikawa,” the voice said again. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

“What do you want,” Tooru ground out, their teeth gritted and their grip tightening on the disposable coffee cup in their hands. Kita glanced between Tooru and the man standing behind them, a small crease between their eyebrows. After a moment’s hesitation, Kita coaxed the cup out of Tooru’s hand and took it from them, gazing at Tooru’s steely expression with concern visible in their eyes.

“I was hoping to speak to you,” the voice said. “But it’s hard to talk to someone when they won’t look at you.” 

“Die mad about it,” Tooru snapped, clenching their hands into fists at their sides. A heavy hand dropped on their shoulder, and Tooru whipped around, slapping the hand away. “Don’t  _ touch me!”  _

“Oikawa,” Kita said, but Tooru ignored them in favor of glaring up at Ushijima.

Ushijima’s face was, as always, blank. “May I speak with you?” he asked. “Preferably alone.”

“No,” Tooru spat. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here.”

Ushijima frowned. “Fine. I would like to know when it is a good time for me to come over and collect the rest of my things.”

Tooru laughed in spite of themself. They could feel Kita radiating concern behind them, but they ignored it in favor of taking a step closer to Ushijima, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me?” they demanded. “No, seriously—is this a  _ fucking  _ joke? You’ve got some fucking nerve to come out here, to  _ find me,  _ after more than a  _ month _ of complete and total radio silence, and then to act like you didn’t  _ ruin me!”  _ Their eyes were burning with angry tears, tears of rage and heartbreak and complete and utter  _ hatred,  _ hatred for this man who they used to love more than anything, hatred for the man who left them with nothing. 

“I am sorry if you were hurt by what I did,” Ushijima started.

“Don’t give me that shit!” Tooru interrupted, seething. “Don’t give me one of your bullshit non-apologies and act like that’ll make everything I went through go away! I lost  _ everything!  _ I didn’t think I’d lose you too, but you’ve always been a fucking bastard.” Tooru straightened up, crossing their arms over their chest. “Maybe I should’ve expected it.”

Ushijima pressed his lips into a thin line. “I told you it was unfortunate timing.”

“Was it?” Tooru asked. “Or was it that you realized I’d never be able to play volleyball again, and that made me worthless to you?”

“It’s not my fault,” Ushijima said. “You overworked yourself and put unnecessary strain on your knees. I don’t have time for someone who can’t keep up with me.”

A loud smack echoed throughout the street. Tooru’s stinging palm told them what they’d just done—they’d slapped him, clear across the face, slapped him so hard he stumbled to the side slightly. Tooru clenched their hand into a fist, ignoring the slight pain, and hissed, “If I never see you again, it’ll be too fucking soon.” 

Without another word, they spun on their heel and grabbed Kita by the wrist, dragging their friend down the street and away from where Ushijima stood stunned from the slap. After a few minutes of walking, Tooru darted into a nearby alley and leaned against the wall of a neighboring building, finally allowing the tears to spill over. 

Kita set down the two hot chocolates, reaching up to place their hands on either of Tooru’s shoulders. Tooru grabbed Kita’s wrists, clinging to them as they cried, as they heaved and sobbed and mourned everything they’d lost, everything Ushijima had stolen from them.

Kita said nothing, just stood there and allowed Tooru to hold onto them to ground themself until finally Tooru sniffled and lifted their head, taking their hands back to swipe at their still-teary eyes. 

“Fucking hell,” they cursed. “I’ve never been less ready for anything than I was for seeing him.”

“You handled it well,” Kita said. 

Tooru scoffed. “Yeah, because crying my eyes out in a dingy alley sure is handling it well.”

Kita only shrugged. 

Tooru sighed, tipping their head back against the wall. “I don’t know what I saw in him. He’s always been that shitty.”

“Ya saw a volleyball player,” Kita said. “A volleyball player who understood what it was like to live and breathe the sport ya play, and ya saw somebody who knew you and yer home. I imagine lovin’ him was more convenient than findin’ anybody else.” 

Tooru chuckled humorlessly. “Way to rip off the bandage, Shin-chan.”

“I don’t believe in sugarcoatin’,” Kita replied.

Tooru sighed, and Kita crouched down to pick up their cups again, passing Tooru’s to them as they came to lean against the wall next to Tooru. The two of them were quiet for several minutes, until Tooru said, “Was I stupid to love him, when I knew he wasn’t good?”

Kita paused, considering. They sipped their drink, which had likely gone cold by now. “No,” they said. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tooru stared down at the lid of their own cup. “I don’t like the person he made me into. I don’t like the person I was with him. And yet—somehow I can’t make myself stop looking for him. Can’t make myself stop loving him.”

“He was part of ya,” Kita replied. “Whether ya like it or not. That doesn’t just go away.”

“I wish it did,” Tooru muttered. 

Kita hummed. “Are you gonna give him back his stuff?”

Tooru grunted. “I’d rather burn it.”

“Okay,” Kita replied. “Got any lighter fluid?”

Tooru choked on their hot chocolate.

-

Shinsuke frowned, pushing their earbud a little further into their ear as they walked. They were listening to some album Oikawa had recommended, something poppy and upbeat in English that Shinsuke couldn’t decide if they liked. The mood of the album didn’t quite fit the mood of the weather; it was a dreary, cold day with a grey, overcast sky that made Shinsuke long for their bed. Their shift had just ended, and technically they should probably tend to the errands they hand to run, but also a part of them just wanted to get something for lunch and go home. It was only Saturday; they could run errands tomorrow. 

Shinsuke unconsciously began to hum along to the catchy tune of the latest song, tapping their thigh along with the beat as they walked in the direction of their apartment. They scanned the nearby shops, wondering if they should pick up something for lunch or if the measly few groceries in their fridge would be enough to tide them over until tomorrow. Their eyes fell on a shop they didn’t recognize—it must’ve been fairly new, for them to have not seen it before on their way to work.

Shinsuke stalled, scanning the shop’s exterior and what little of the interior they could see through the front window. It looked like a restaurant of sorts, though not a very high-end one. Shinsuke glanced up at the sign to see what the shop was called, and felt their blood run cold. 

Onigiri Miya. 

It could be anyone, they reminded themself. What were the odds that one of the Miya twins (Osamu, there was no way Atsumu would ever do anything other than volleyball after high school) moved to Tokyo and started an Onigiri shop in the same neighborhood where Shinsuke worked and lived? No, those odds were slim to none. There was no way that was Osamu. 

There was only one employee inside the building, a young man based on their build. Shinsuke watched them walk out from behind the counter and approach the front window, where the OPEN sign hung innocuously beneath the name of the shop. Shinsuke stared, feet rooted to the ground as the employee flipped the sign from open to closed, then glanced up and made eye contact and—

That was Osamu. Osamu was here, and he’d found Shinsuke. 

Osamu’s eyes widened. Slowly, almost as though he was in a trance, Osamu raised a hand and waved. 

Shinsuke’s first instinct was to turn and run home, to forget that Osamu had set up shop  _ in their neighborhood,  _ and find a new way to work every day, but—they were sick of running. They’d never been one to avoid things before, and they didn’t plan to start making a habit of it. Osamu had been their friend in the before. After nearly two and a half months, he deserved at least an explanation of why Shinsuke vanished with the early winter wind and never came back.

Shinsuke took a deep breath, reminding themself that Oikawa had nothing to do today and would be available as soon as Shinsuke got home for likely much-needed comfort, before they glanced both ways and crossed the street to stand in front of the door to Onigiri Miya. Osamu pulled the door open and gestured them inside, for which Shinsuke nodded in thanks. Osamu didn’t bother locking the door, instead leading Shinsuke over to a small, circular table in the corner of the room. He gestured for Shinsuke to take a seat, sitting down in the chair closest to the back wall.

Shinsuke took their seat, setting their bag with their wallet and other belongings on the floor next to their chair. They relaxed their posture, tried to recall the image of them that Osamu would remember. Poised, put together, quiet and composed. Everything Shinsuke didn’t have to be around Oikawa, everything they didn’t really like being anymore. 

“Ya don’t hafta do that,” Osamu mumbled, tugging on the brim of his cap. 

Shinsuke blinked. 

Osamu lifted a hand and gestured to Shinsuke’s posture. “I can tell yer fakin’, ya know.”

Shinsuke relaxed slightly. 

Osamu stared across the table at them, his eyes searching for something Shinsuke didn’t know. “Yer workin’ in the city now?” he asked, after several minutes passed in semi-uncomfortable silence. 

Shinsuke hummed. “I work at the flower shop a block up the road.”

Osamu nodded, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop. 

“This place is yers?” Shinsuke asked, swallowing a lump of nerves in his throat.

“My name’s on the door, ain’t it?” Osamu drawled. Shinsuke chuckled awkwardly, even though they didn’t feel much like laughing. Osamu had been the one to stick it out the longest, longer than even the clingiest of all of Shinsuke’s old friends (which was, coincidentally, Atsumu). He’d texted Shinsuke every day, at first simple things like questions about coursework, questions about Shinsuke’s father, their day-to-day life, and even memes that Osamu claimed reminded him of Shinsuke. Eventually, though, it developed into questions about Shinsuke’s whereabouts, about why they’d gone radio silent out of nowhere, about what the fuck Osamu was supposed to do to get Shinsuke to respond, because he’d tried everything. 

He only gave up because Shinsuke couldn’t stand the onslaught anymore and blocked his number, which they still didn’t feel good about. They hadn't told Oikawa they’d done it, but they had a feeling that Oikawa would’ve encouraged it. Would’ve told Shinsuke that their happiness came first, that if having their old friends constantly reaching out was harming Shinsuke, then putting a stop to it was the right choice. 

Shinsuke didn’t agree with their inner-Oikawa. 

Shinsuke opened their mouth to speak, but Osamu held up a hand and cut them off. 

“Ya don’t gotta explain yerself to me,” he said. “I ain’t sure I really wanna know. But—we were yer friends, Kita. Ya ain’t supposed to do shit like that to yer friends.”

“I know,” Shinsuke said quietly. 

“Do ya?” Osamu asked, but it didn’t feel as accusatory as it would coming from his twin. He squinted at Shinsuke, before finally he sighed and glanced out at his shop, away from Shinsuke’s guilty face. “I dunno what happened to ya, Kita. Ya never used to be like this.” 

Shinsuke didn't know what to say to that.

Osamu wasn’t finished, in any case. “If ya were ‘Tsumu, maybe I woulda—it wouldn’t’a been so odd, ‘cause ‘Tsumu’s always been a flaky bastard. But—”

“‘M not Atsumu,” Shinsuke interrupted. “So it doesn’t make any sense.”

“No,” Osamu agreed, turning back to look at them. His face was cold, blank. Shinsuke recognized that look—he reserved that look for strangers, or people who he didn’t like. “It doesn’t.”

“I dunno what to tell ya,” Shinsuke told him. 

Osamu shrugged. “Then don’t tell me anythin’. I figured out where I stand with ya when ya blocked me. But—I ain’t the only one who cared.”

“I have to go,” Shinsuke blurted, but it came out as a whisper, barely a ghost of words under his breath. 

“Then go,” Osamu replied, listless. “It’s a big city. Maybe ya won’t ever hafta see my ugly mug again.”

Shinsuke grabbed their bag and fled the restaurant before Osamu could see the tears in their eyes. Maybe he already had. Maybe he just didn’t care. Shinsuke wouldn’t, if their positions had been switched.

Shinsuke pulled out their phone, dialing Oikawa’s contact before they could stop themself. The tears were already streaming down their face, and they swept fruitlessly as their cheeks to at least try and keep some semblance of composure on their walk home. 

Oikawa picked up after the second ring. “ _ Yahoo, Shin-chan! _ ” they greeted. “ _ I thought you were at work. _ ”

“My shift ended thirty minutes ago,” Shinsuke replied, hiccupping a sob. 

“ _ Shin-chan, what’s wrong?”  _ Oikawa asked, suddenly sounding concerned.  _ “Are you crying? Why aren’t you home yet?”  _

Shinsuke sniffled, desperately trying to pull themself together as they finally reached the apartment complex and pulled out their keys. “I’m home,” they said. “I’ll be up in a minute.” They hung up before Oikawa could respond, throwing the door open and making a beeline for the staircase. They took the stairs as fast as their legs could carry them, reaching the floor where they and Oikawa lived in record time. Oikawa’s door was unlocked when Shinsuke tried the knob, so Shinsuke let themself in and found themself staring at Oikawa, who was waiting on the couch for them. Oikawa lifted their arms, and Shinsuke felt a fresh wave of tears well up in their eyes at the sight of it.

They sat down on the couch next to Oikawa, allowing their friend to wrap their arms around Shinsuke’s shoulders and pull Shinsuke in close to their chest. Shinsuke rested their head against Oikawa’’s collarbone, sniffling every once in a while. 

“Shin-chan,” Oikawa murmured, not daring to move from their position holding Shinsuke close. “What happened?”

“I ran into an old friend,” Shinsuke told them. Oikawa’s grip tightened infinitesimally. “And it—I don’t know who I am anymore,” Shinsuke confessed. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

Oikawa was quiet for several moments. “That’s okay,” they breathed. 

“How?” Shinsuke asked miserably.

Oikawa was quiet for a few moments. “You’ve just got to find yourself again.”

“I don’t know where to start,” Shinsuke replied. 

“Maybe,” Oikawa started, “maybe you should start at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are heating up folks!!! osamu makes an entrance 0:


	8. Chapter 8

Tooru was on their own the following weekend, as Kita had taken their advice and traveled back to their hometown to do what Tooru jokingly referred to as soul-searching. It didn’t quite elicit the smile from Kita they’d been hoping for, but Tooru figured the slight, half-hearted chuckle was the best they were going to get. Kita hadn’t been the same since they ran into Osamu, their mind always elsewhere and their face set into a permanent frown.

Kita had left early that morning, though they’d texted Tooru to say goodbye and apparently left something outside Tooru’s door, which turned out to be a tiny, teal gift bag with dark blue tissue paper. Tooru had brought it inside and opened it, only to find a bottle of lighter fluid and a matching lighter, with a small notecard instructing Tooru to “burn responsibly.” 

Which was how Tooru found themself sitting on their living room floor that evening, a small metal trashcan sitting in front of them, as well as the lighter and lighter fluid, and everything Ushjima had left behind that was flammable. Anything that wasn’t flammable had been gathered in a large trashbag and thrown down the trash chute hours ago. Hours ago, when Tooru had put all of this stuff on the floor and got ready to burn it only to find that they couldn’t bring themself to do. They weren’t sure if they  _ couldn’t _ , or if they just wouldn’t. If they just didn’t want to, because even though Ushijima had been the bane of their existence, had fucking ruined everything Tooru was, everything Tooru wanted to be—they still loved him. A stupid, traitorous part of their heart still missed him, still longed to smell his musky cologne and hear his lumbering footsteps come down the hall every night because he always went to bed later than Tooru and fell asleep first. 

Without thinking about it, without even stopping to consider the ramifications, Tooru pulled out their phone and dialed a number they’d been doing their best to avoid for nearly three months. 

Iwaizumi picked up after the third ring. “ _ What the fuck do you want? _ ”

Tooru huffed. “Hello to you too, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru could practically  _ hear  _ Iwaizumi roll his eyes. “ _ What? After months I’m just supposed to welcome you back with open arms?”  _

“Yes,” Tooru replied primly. “But if it’s more convenient for you, I can just go back to pretending you don’t exist.” 

Iwaizumi scoffed. “ _ I didn’t say that, Shittykawa. Why did you even call me? I was in the middle of studying.”  _

“I’m having a bonfire,” Tooru said, staring at the pile of Ushijima’s stupid shirts. He never wore anything other than workout clothes, which was a goddamn tragedy, but he also never listened when Tooru told him so. 

Iwaizumi made a vague noise of confusion. “ _ In the middle of fucking February? Shittykawa, you live in an apartment.”  _

“Wow, really?” Tooru drawled. “I had no idea.”

Iwaizumi just scoffed again. 

“If you must know,” Tooru started, an airy tune to their voice, “I’m doing this because I have things to burn.”

“ _ Like what?”  _ Iwaizumi asked, still sounding skeptical. 

“Everything Ushiwaka left behind,” Tooru replied. 

Iwaizumi was quiet for several moments. “ _ What?” _

Tooru hummed, leaning back against their couch without taking their eyes off of Ushijima’s old t-shirts. “Oh, did I forget to tell you? Ushiwaka dumped me.” 

Again, there was silence for a beat. “ _ What? Why would he do that?” _

“Because,” Tooru chirped, “I can’t play volleyball ever again, and that makes me worthless.”

_ “What the fuck,”  _ Iwaizumi asked. “ _ What haven’t you been telling me, Shittykawa? Cut the bullshit and be up front for once, would you?” _ __  
  


“I destroyed my knee, Iwa-chan,” Tooru snapped. “And Ushiwaka dumped me a week later.”

“ _ Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”  _ Iwaizumi demanded. “ _ You stopped talking to me months ago! Have you been coping with this on your own for that long? You’re shit at taking care of yourself and you know it, Shittykawa!”  _

“It happened at the end of November,” Tooru told him, their voice much quieter than it had been a moment ago. The false bravado had drained out of them, leaving them feeling empty.

_ “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me,”  _ Iwaizumi said again. “ _ I would’ve come.”  _

“That’s exactly why I  _ didn’t  _ tell you, dumbass!” Tooru hollered into the receiver, hot tears burning the backs of their eyes. “I knew you would’ve dropped everything because you’re stupid and never think of yourself!”

“ _ You should’ve told me,”  _ Iwaizumi insisted. “ _ I’m supposed to be your best friend.”  _

“This wasn’t about you, Iwa-chan,” Tooru huffed. “It wasn’t a fucking personal slight. I’m 20 years old. I can take care of myself.”

“ _ Not when you’re fucking injured,”  _ Iwaizumi spat.

“ _ Yes,  _ when I’m injured!” Tooru retorted. “If I couldn’t do that I wouldn’t be talking to you right now! God, it’s like you still  _ want  _ me to be that idiotic little eight-year-old who used to follow you around and lived in your shadow.” 

_ “I never said that,”  _ Iwaizumi started, but Tooru cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to, Iwa-chan,” they said. 

_ “You can’t read me as well as you used to, if you think that’s how I feel,”  _ Iwaizumi said.

“Maybe,” Tooru agreed. “But whose fault is that?”

_ “You really are a shitty person, you know that?”  _ Iwaizumi snapped, and then the line went dead. Tooru sat there holding the receiver to their ear for several long moments afterward, staring blankly out at their dark apartment. 

“Yeah,” Tooru murmured. “But you used to love me anyway.”

They suddenly didn’t feel like burning anything. 

Maybe they’d just wait for Kita to get back.

-

Shinsuke stepped off the bus and into what felt like a time capsule, breathing deeply as the crisp aroma of pinesap in winter circled around them. Their nose was already going numb from the cold, as they reached up and tugged their hat down further over their ears, burying their face in their thick scarf. 

Compared to the city, their hometown seemed much more rustic, much more rundown. The buildings were older, and farther apart, and the amount of people seemed to be less than a tenth of the amount of people in the city. It seemed fresher here, and the snow was pristine and white, whereas the snow back in the city was almost always grey and dingy from millions of feet walking on it every day. A cool breeze blew through, making Shinsuke shiver. 

Shaking their head to clear their thoughts, Shinsuke headed off toward home to drop off their things and say hello to their father. They weren’t entirely sure what it was that compelled them to listen to Oikawa and head home for the weekend, but they had a feeling that they wouldn’t find whatever they were looking for sitting around their house. 

Shinsuke’s father was sitting on the couch reading the morning’s newspaper when Shinsuke came inside, though he glanced up and smiled at the sound of the door opening. Shinsuke nodded in greeting toward their father, pulling their overnight bag the rest of the way into the house before they closed the door behind them. They glanced around the house, their home for the past ten years, and frowned when they realized how  _ small  _ it felt. The whole town had felt smaller, but Shinsuke had merely chalked that up to how much bigger everything in the city was. Their apartment wasn’t even that big, was probably smaller than the house itself with lower ceilings, but for some reason Shinsuke gazed around the room and felt like a puzzle piece cut from a different picture. They didn’t belong here anymore, but they didn’t know why.

“Find it?” their father asked, returning his attention to the paper.

Shinsuke hummed. “Not yet,” they said. “I’m gonna go out for a while. I’ll be back by sundown.” 

Shinsuke’s father just grunted. Shinsuke bit back the frown tugging at their features; after spending endless hours with Oikawa, they’d forgotten how  _ quiet  _ their father was. How quiet their  _ home  _ was. 

They really had to stop calling it home, they reminded themself. It wasn’t home, not anymore. 

Maybe it never was.

Sighing, Shinsuke carried their bag to their room, depositing it on the bed before they rifled through it for their wallet and house keys and phone. Once they had everything, they turned and left the room, bidding their father a quiet goodbye as they stepped out to the house and back onto the icy winter streets. The city was farther north than their hometown was, and was usually colder than it ever was in their hometown, but the lack of snow on the ground up in the city made it seem warmer. It made it seem more like the tail end of winter, and made coming home feel more like going back in time. 

Shinsuke wandered the streets for a little while, unsure where they wanted to go, what they wanted to do. There was nowhere in this little town where their grandma hadn’t been, nowhere she couldn’t follow them. Shinsuke didn’t like the clinging feeling of her eyes watching them, the odd sensation of knowing that her silent feet were padding along behind them even though, for all intents and purposes, they were well and truly alone.

“I thought that was you,” a familiar voice called, and Shinsuke stilled. They glanced around, only to find Suna standing behind them with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his puffer coat, his nose bright red from the cold. His sleepy-eyes were narrowed into a much sharper, much colder calculating look than they ordinarily were, and Shinsuke felt an icicle of guilt stab their midsection. This had been a risk they were aware of when they decided to come home, but for some reason they’d been holding out the foolish hope that they wouldn’t run into any old friends and wouldn’t have to explain themself. After all, with Atsumu off playing for a university team, Osamu in the city, and Aran playing professionally in a different prefecture, Suna was the only one left unaccounted for.

“Suna,” Shinsuke greeted, their voice carefully measured. Suna studied them, sizing them up a moment longer before he trudged closer to Shinsuke. He was just as tall as Shinsuke remembered, if not a little taller, and Shinsuke had to look up to make eye contact with him. 

“Forgot I live here too?” Suna asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” Shinsuke replied. They hadn’t forgotten. They’d just been hoping they wouldn't see him.

Suna hummed, but he didn’t look like he believed Shinsuke. “Osamu said you moved.”

Shinsuke nodded. “To Tokyo,” they replied. “For school.”

Suna made that face again, a face that said he didn’t believe what Shinsuke was telling him. “You haven’t talked to any of us in months,” he said, and Shinsuke winced. They’d been waiting for him to bring that up. 

“Yes,” Shinsuke said, for lack of anything else to say. 

Suna squinted down at them. “Spare a minute to talk to me now?”

Shinsuke blinked. “Sure,” they said. Suna gestured for them to follow, turning and walking down the street in the direction of the town’s only community park. Shinsuke knew the route well; they’d trekked it back and forth every day for a week after  _ it  _ happened before they left. And, prior to that, they used to come here all the time with  _ her _ . They could almost hear her laughing as they neared the park, as the swing set came into view. But Suna didn’t walk toward the swing set; instead, he made a beeline for the main playground structure where the slides were, climbing up to the roof of the structure. Shinsuke stared up at him from the ground, before they sighed and sat up at the top of one of the slides after dusting away the snow. Suna flopped backward on the roof, lying spread-eagled with his limbs starfished.

“You know what I always hated about you?” Suna asked, loudly. 

“What?” Shinsuke asked, picking at the hem of their coat. 

“You never gave me any material,” Suna replied. Shinsuke frowned, but before they could ask, Suna spoke again. “Making fun of people is my whole thing. And you never gave me anything to make fun of.”

Shinsuke couldn’t help but chuckle, even though they didn’t think Suna had forgiven them. “‘S’that why ya always went quiet when I was around?”

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” Suna asked dryly. “‘How’s the weather down there?’” 

“Aran used to think it was ‘cause ya had a crush on me,” Shinsuke said. “He was convinced.” 

Suna scoffed. “Fucking everybody had a crush on you, Kita.”

Shinsuke blinked, their eyes widening. “They did?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t realize,” Suna replied. “I think we were all a little starstruck.”

“I never noticed,” Shinsuke admitted. Which was odd—Shinsuke had always thought they were rather good at reading people.

The two of them lapsed into silence. Shinsuke returned their attention to tugging on a loose thread near the bottom of their jacket. They were careful to pull it out cleanly, without ruining the stitching or the fabric.

“You’re different,” Suna declared. Shinsuke could hear him shift as he sat up. 

Shinsuke paused, pressing their lips into a thin line. “Ya think so?”

Suna hummed. “I don’t know what happened to make you ghost us for three months,” he started, “and I don’t know what made you move to the  _ city,  _ of all places, but—whatever it was, I can see it in your face. You’re not my team captain.”

“Oh,” Shinsuke breathed, and—why did that hurt so much? It felt like rejection, the sting of it sharp and cold. It felt like isolation, felt like Suna was finally doing to them what they’d done to their friends months ago: shutting them out and locking the door. 

“If you were Atsumu,” Suna continued, unaware of Shinsuke’s inner turmoil, “I wouldn’t hesitate to make fun of you. But, if you were Atsumu, there’d be about a million things for me to make fun of.” 

“‘M not,” Shinsuke said, but their voice came out meeker than they intended to. Why was Atsumu always the example, anyway? Why was Shinsuke always compared to him? Was it because he was more expressive than Shinsuke, and therefore it was easier to forgive him, easier to trust him? Or was it because they  _ expected  _ bad things out of Atsumu, so it was more acceptable when he hurt people? 

Why was the standard always different when it came to Shinsuke?

Suna made a quiet, derisive noise. “I know  _ that.”  _ He paused. “Atsumu would be man enough to face his friends, even after he ghosted them for no fucking reason.” 

Shinsuke winced. They didn’t know why they hadn’t seen that coming, but somehow Suna throwing it back in their face with that specific wording, with the framing of manhood and manliness and everything Shinsuke  _ hated,  _ felt like a kick to the teeth.

It would be very easy to come out now, they mused. Very easy to just tell Suna part of what they’d been grappling with lately, very easy to earn back at least a little bit of his sympathy. But when Shinsuke opened their mouth, no words came out, and they sighed, pulling their knees up to their chest. They were just glad they were wearing pants today, and not a skirt; they didn’t think they’d be able to handle the stress of not only coming out, but coming out to  _ Suna,  _ the one friend who would probably hate them the most after all of this, the one friend who had never really been all that close to Shinsuke. 

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Suna said, but it sounded like he was saying it to the sky, and not to Shinsuke. 

Shinsuke blinked out at the rapidly darkening playground in front of them as night fell, and watched as fat white flakes began to drift toward the earth. It was snowing. “Yeah,” they murmured, quiet enough that Suna likely wouldn’t even be able to hear them. “Me neither.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL NOT THE WAY I ENTIRELY FORGOT TO POST LAST WEEK
> 
> im clown ur honor
> 
> hey hey hey! im organizing an inarizaki-themed big bang and our interest check just opened, if anyone would like to join us! heres the post on [tumblr](https://inarizakibigbang.tumblr.com/post/636578380527091712/our-interest-check-is-officially-open-fill-it-out) or [twitter ](https://twitter.com/inarizakibb/status/1334851364393017344?s=20) :)
> 
> i promise i wont forget next week. yknow probably


	9. Chapter 9

Tooru winced as they sat down on the train, propping their crutches up against the seat in between their legs. Physical therapy had been particularly rough that morning, particularly hard on their aching knee. Tooru sighed and pulled out their earbuds and phone, plugging in and shuffling their music to a random playlist and a random song they didn’t care about before turning to look out the window.

They didn’t usually look out the window on the way home, in part due to the route this train took. Yes, it brought them to and from the station closest to their apartment complex, but—it also took them past the place where Hanamaki and Matsukawa lived. Tooru still remembered the day they and Iwaizumi helped their friends move into their new place, fresh out of high school. Matsukawa had already been looking at jobs, places to hire him, and Hanamaki had been hopping around as an office temp for months prior to their move. Tooru wondered if they were home, wondered how long it had been since they’d spoken. 

(Two months. Almost three.)

Before they could stop themself, Tooru was getting off the train at the station closest to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s shared apartment, hobbling down the street toward the building. They rang the buzzer for the apartment—4B—and waited to see if anyone would pick up the intercom, or if this was stupid. It was bitingly cold out today, so much so that Tooru could feel it in their normally numb, achy knee joint. Their knee behaved so strangely—most days, they couldn’t feel it at all, couldn’t even feel that the leg beneath the knee was still  _ there,  _ but some days the pain was horrible and excruciating. Tooru couldn’t decide if they liked the all-encompassing pain or disorienting numbness better. 

Just when Tooru was about to turn around and head back to the train station, the intercom buzzed and Hanamaki’s crackling voice asked, “Who is it?” 

“It’s me, Makki,” Tooru said. “Oikawa.” 

There was a pause, before Hanamaki said, “Come on up,” and the intercom died. Tooru stared at the intercom for a moment before they reached for the newly unlocked front door of the building, heading for the elevator. There was no elevator in Tooru’s building, only stairs, which hadn’t been as much of a problem when Tooru had a fruitful career as a professional volleyball player laid out in front of them. Now, though, it was a nuisance on the best days, a debilitating hindrance on the worst. Some days, Tooru didn’t even leave the house solely because they didn’t want to deal with all the stairs.

The elevator ride was short, letting Tooru out on the fourth floor where Hanamaki and Matsukawa lived. Tooru made their way down the hallway toward apartment 4B, where they’d been a million times before and somehow felt they’d never been.

Hanamaki opened the door before Tooru had a chance to knock, his face completely unreadable. He said nothing, didn’t even quirk an eyebrow at the sight of Tooru’s crutches and obvious knee brace, just stepped back and motioned for Tooru to come inside. 

Tooru mumbled a thanks as Hanamaki closed the door behind them, following Hanamaki over to take a seat on the couch. Hanamaki’s silence was unnerving; Hanamaki and Matsukawa had always been the more laid-back and light-hearted of the friend group, the ones Tooru could always rely on for a joke or a conversation when Tooru didn’t know what to say. When even Hanamaki was silent, Tooru knew things were serious. 

After a few moments, Tooru cleared their throat. “Is Mattsun home?” 

“Shift ends in an hour,” Hanamaki replied, his eyes flitting momentarily to the wall clock hanging above the TV. The two lapsed back into silence, Tooru shifting uncomfortably and Hanamaki glaring at the carpeted floors. Tooru’s knee twinged as they fidgeted, sending a spike of pain up and down their leg. Tooru hissed sharply, ignoring the way they could feel Hanamaki’s eyes on them. “One question?” Hanamaki asked. Tooru stiffened slightly, still holding their aching knee. 

They lifted their head to look at him, at the slightly more open but still unreadable expression on his face, and felt some of the tension loosen from their chest. The two of them used to do this all the time back in high school, whenever Tooru was upset and clearly didn’t want to talk about it, whenever Tooru needed help but didn’t know how to ask. Tooru had always been guarded, had always been adamant about keeping their emotions kept close no matter how unhealthy it was to keep it all bottled up. Hanamaki had devised the one-question system to combat that, in which Hanamaki was allowed to ask Tooru only one question, and Tooru had to answer no matter what it was, and after that the matter would be dropped entirely. They hadn’t used the system in a while, probably not since Iwaizumi transferred to an American university after the end of their first year and Tooru had been the one to see him off to the airport.

“Shoot,” Tooru breathed. 

Hanamaki regarded them carefully for several long moments, his eyes darting first to the brace around Tooru’s knee before lifting back up to their face. Tooru wondered what he would ask, wondered how invasive it would be, wondered if it would be something they really didn’t want to answer. There wasn’t a way to be sure, when it came to Hanamaki. Hanamaki had always been a bit of a wild card.

Finally, Hanamaki straightened up and asked, “How long?” 

Which could have meant a million things. how long had Tooru been injured? How long would Tooru be on crutches? How long until they were recovered enough? How long until they could play volleyball again? How long had it been since Ushjima had left them, since they knew Hanamaki would be able to determine that just by looking at them? How long until Tooru was over him? How long until Tooru fell off the radar? How long until Tooru cut them all off for good, because they didn’t know how to process their own fucking loss and grief and other shitty emotions and so clearly the only solution was to find a place where they didn’t have to be anything at all to anybody?

There were a million possible things that question could mean. A million possible answers Tooru could give. What they said, though, was: “Three months.” 

Three months since their knee gave out. Three months since Ushijima left them. Three months since they lost everything.

Hanamaki nodded, satisfied with the answer, and reclined backward on the couch, his entire countenance relaxing into the customary slouch Tooru had come to expect from him after years of friendship.

That number weighed on their mind the longer they and Hanamaki sat in silence. Three months. Three  _ months.  _ Twelve weeks, ninety days. An uncountable number of minutes, an uncountable number of seconds,  _ so much time had passed,  _ and Tooru didn’t feel any different than the day it happened. They felt the same as they did when they woke up and found Ushijima waiting in the living room with an overnight bag packed, the biggest one he owned and clearly stuffed full. They felt the same as they did when they leaned heavily against the wall, fresh from surgery and still in more pain than they knew what to do with, and asked him what he was doing. They felt the same as they did when he said he was leaving, said he was moving out, said that he didn’t think their relationship should continue any longer than it already had. They felt the same as they did when they cried out  _ why, why, how could you leave me after I’ve already lost everyting else,  _ the same as they did when he looked at them with his emotionless, uncaring eyes and said,  _ this is just unfortunate timing _ , when he said  _ it’s been a long time coming  _ and all Tooru could think was how  _ blindsided  _ they were by something that had apparently been building for days, weeks, months, maybe the whole fucking time.

They felt the exact same as they did they lost the one thing they had left. 

They remembered the splitting feeling in their chest that morning, the sensation of clawed hands ripping their torso open and dragging every last bit of Tooru’s heart away, damaging them, defiling them, leaving them a ruined husk of nothingness, an empty shell of a person who used to exist, a person who had lost everything that they ever thought they were.

They remembered thinking, for a fleeting moment, that they were going to die. How could they go on, when they were in this much pain? How could they live, when they had nothing? When they  _ were  _ nothing?

“I could say something,” Hanamaki started, drawing Tooru out of their thoughts. “But I don’t think you’ll want to hear it.” 

“Shoot,” Tooru repeated, staring blankly at the floor. 

“He wasn’t good for you,” Hanamaki stated, in a tone that left no room for argument. Were Tooru still in high school, were they not the warped version of themself that they’d turned into in the last three months (Or was it longer? They couldn’t tell anymore), they might have argued anyway. “This whole distancing yourself from us didn’t start three months ago, you know. Three months ago might’ve been when you finally cut us off for good, but you’d been pulling away for way longer.”

Tooru said nothing.

“You two were too different,” Hanamaki continued. “Too competitive. I mean, seriously. Just watching the two of you interact was like watching two people try to compete and prove who could love the other person more.” 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Tooru said, forcing a weak smile they didn’t feel. Hanamaki leveled them with an unimpressed look. 

“It  _ was  _ with you two,” he declared. “Because I don’t think either of you were actually in love.”

“Of course I was in love,” Tooru snapped, offended. 

Hanamaki squinted at them. “Were you? Or did you just want to be? There’s a difference.”

Tooru opened their mouth to reply, but faltered. They did love him, they were sure of it. But the love they had for him—it was never the warm and fluffy thing the movies made it out to be. For a while, Tooru just assumed that was because the media set unrealistic expectations for everything, but now a part of them wondered if the reason why their love always seemed so ugly and dirty was because it  _ was.  _

It was love, but—maybe love wasn’t always a good thing. 

Tooru was pretty sure love wasn’t supposed to be the thing that destroyed them. 

Which only opened more doors, in the long run. Because Ushijima, as fucking shitty as what he did was, as ruined as it had left Tooru—he wasn’t the only thing that broke them. Ushijima wasn’t the only thing Tooru lost, three months ago. Tooru lost their knee, lost  _ volleyball,  _ and they’d been forcing themself to let that be okay because they still had Ushijima, still had their friends, still had their  _ life.  _

Their love for volleyball, their dedication—had that been a bad thing, too? 

_ How  _ could it have been bad? How could  _ Ushijima  _ have been bad? How could any of it have been bad, when it used to make Tooru so  _ happy?  _ If none of it had had to end, would they have stayed that happy? Would they have ever had to wonder why the love they had for Ushijima didn’t feel the same as it seemed to feel in movies? Would they have ever had to stop and wonder if their willingness to pour more than they had into volleyball was unhealthy?

Were they wrong to have been happy, when it was clearly so toxic in retrospect? Were they wrong to have loved him, to have loved volleyball? Were they wrong to have loved the things that destroyed them?

What  _ was  _ love, if it wasn’t blind devotion, if it wasn’t endless dedication, if it wasn’t an incessant need to be the best? What was love, if it wasn’t constantly walking on the precipice, constantly in danger of falling and losing it all? What was love, if it wasn’t unhealthy? What was love, if it wasn’t dangerous? What was love, if it didn’t hurt?

What was anything?

“Wanna watch a TV drama?” Hanamaki asked suddenly, startling Tooru out of their downward spiral. “Or an afternoon talk show?”

“Sure,” Tooru said, and turned their eyes to the TV as Hanamaki flicked it on, fiddling with the remote to pull up an episode of some shitty talk show Tooru didn’t care about. Soon enough, the talk show host appeared on the screen to introduce that afternoon’s first segment, their first special guest, and Tooru allowed her measured voice, her fake cheeriness, to wash over them until the doubts and fears and wonderings in their mind had been smoothed out, hidden beneath the sheet of a freshly made bed, to be rediscovered much later in the evening. 

“That outfit is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Hanamaki declared loudly as the first guest appearance walked out onto the set of the talk show. Tooru laughed despite themself.

“I mean, seriously,” they added, scooting over slightly to reposition themself on the couch cushions. “Don’t they have a stylist anywhere on that set? Or someone who has at the very least seen fashion before? Couldn’t  _ someone  _ have stopped that monstrosity?”

“It must be hard,” Hanamaki said sagely, “to look that ugly all the time.” 

Tooru snorted, their worries forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall i am almost finished writing all the chapters for this,,, im so emo


	10. Chapter 10

Shinsuke was good at waiting. They always had been, which was a good skill to have as captain of a volleyball team full of ridiculous and mischievous teenage boys. The skill came in handy in other areas of their life, too, like when they had to run errands and wait in lines, or when Oikawa was being particularly dodgy and Shinsuke would have to wait and wait and  _ wait  _ to get them to finally open up. 

The point was that Shinsuke was good at waiting. 

Shinsuke curled their hands into fists where they rested in the pockets of their coat, staring across the street at the storefront they were simultaneously drawn to and desperate to avoid. Onigiri Miya looked quite lonely in the dreary weather, the shop’s interior deserted apart from the lone employee working behind the counter. The streets were empty, Shinsuke the only one crazy enough to be outside when there was so clearly a storm building on the horizon. It hadn’t started to rain just yet, only mist lingering in the air that promised a downpour.

Shinsuke didn’t think Osamu had noticed them yet, standing beneath the awning of a clothing boutique directly across the street from the onigiri shop. They hadn’t had the foresight to bring an umbrella, and knew that they should probably leave and go home if they didn’t want to get caught in the rain, but—a part of them didn’t want to leave. A part of them wanted to stay right here and watch Osamu as he worked, watch him and wait for their resolve to build or crumble, wait for the words to come to them, wait for a way to approach someone who they used to know like the back of their hand and apologize. Apologize for ignoring him, apologize for blocking him, apologize for their own emotional ineptitude that they never  _ used  _ to have. Apologize for changing. Apologize for becoming somebody he didn't recognize. Apologize for liking the person they are now far more than they ever liked who they were before. 

Shinsuke was patient. Patient, and hard-working, and kind. That was all they’d ever had going for them. Yes, they’d always been smart, but smarts didn’t matter much to them. Yes, they’d been a good volleyball player, but they’d never had plans to pursue that beyond high school. They didn’t have big dreams like their friends, didn’t plan on opening businesses or playing for the Japan national team. All they had going for them was their patience, their diligence, and their kindness. 

If only they knew how to get that back. 

Thunder cracked loudly, and a second later lightning flooded the street with bright, white light. Shinsuke jumped, startled out of their reverie by the jarring start of the storm. As if someone had split open the sky, rain began to pour in thick sheets, raindrops like bullets falling hard enough to bruise. Across the street, safely inside the comfort of his shop, Osamu finally looked up and out the large storefront windows. His eyes didn’t find Shinsuke right away, first studying the place where the rain met the pavement. It took him a second to lift his gaze to meet Shinsuke’s where they were still huddled beneath the awning, umbrella-less and stranded. 

Shinsuke watched as Osamu stared at them for several long moments, before he turned away and walked further into the shop, out of sight. A few moments later, the lights flicked off in the shop and the entire street was bathed in darkness. Onigiri Miya had been the only store left open, the only store that didn’t close for the oncoming storm. Without its fluorescent light to cast strange shadows across every crack in the pavement, the street seemed much darker. It felt like night, rather than mid-afternoon. 

Shinsuke sighed. Osamu had made it clear how he felt about them when they first reconnected, even more so just now. They considered calling Oikawa, considered calling for someone to bring them an umbrella or pick them up, but ultimately decided against it. There was a bench underneath the awning of the neighboring store, so Shinsuke darted over to take a seat and wait out the rain. Even if it took all night, it’d be better than going home. 

Shinsuke allowed their mind to wander as the minutes passed, remembering high school and what it had been like to be constantly surrounded by the support of their friends. They hadn’t liked high school very much, mostly because they hadn’t been able to figure out why they always felt so wrong, always felt that pesky itch beneath their skin telling them they didn’t belong, didn’t fit right, weren’t good enough, but their friends had made it significantly better. At the very least, the Miya twins’ constant shenanigans provided enough distraction that Shinsuke could never allow their thoughts to linger on the discomfort they felt down to their very soul.

Someone cleared their throat, and Shinsuke lifted their gaze only to see Osamu standing in front of them, holding a large umbrella over his head with another, smaller umbrella clutched in his free hand. Shinsuke blinked. 

“Ya shouldn’t be out in a storm,” Osamu told them. “Thought ya were smart enough to know that.”

He held out the umbrella, which Shinsuke slowly reached out to take from him. “Thank you,” they said, opening the umbrella and lifting it over their head as they stepped out from underneath the awning. Osamu just grunted, staring at them strangely. 

He turned away eventually, glaring out at the street. “I’ll walk ya home. C’mon.”

“That’s not necessary,” Shinsuke told him, and Osamu scoffed. 

“No shit,” he drawled. “M doin’ it anyway.”

Shinsuke sighed, not bothering to put up further argument. Instead, they just started off down the street in the direction of their apartment complex, Osamu following along beside them. They walked in silence, the only sound being the pounding of the rain. Finally, when they reached the entrance to Shinsuke’s apartment, Shinsuke turned to Osamu and paused. 

“Osamu,” they started. Osamu grunted. “If ya had to tell someone somethin’, somethin’ important, how would ya go about doin’ it?” 

Osamu squinted down at them. “Depends what it is. Depends what kinda important it is.”

Shinsuke nodded. “Right.” They stepped back underneath the awning of their apartment building, the lip of concrete overhead sheltering them from the rain. 

It would've been so easy to say it, right then. To apologize, to come out, to explain themself; they could’ve done it all in that next moment that followed. The words were right there, on the tip of their tongue, but still Shinsuke found that they didn’t know how to speak them into existence. 

They closed the umbrella and handed it back to Osamu. “Thank you for walkin’ me home. An’ thank you for the umbrella.”

Osamu nodded, a slight frown marring his features. “We ain’t friends anymore, are we?”

Shinsuke blinked. It stung to admit, but they didn’t think friends were ever supposed to have this much tension between the two of them, this much fear and apprehension. “No,” they said. “I don’t believe so.” 

Osamu hummed a short, flat note under his breath. “Right. See ya ‘round, Kita.”

He turned on his heel and started back the way they’d come from the shop, and Shinsuke found themself running out into the rain after him before they knew what they were doing. “Osamu,” they called. Osamu stopped short, but he didn’t turn around. Shinsuke swallowed thickly. “‘M sorry.” 

Osamu paused for several long moments. “Yeah,” he replied. “I know ya are. Go inside, ‘fore ya catch yer death out here.”

He walked away, and Shinsuke stood there watching him go long after the rain had soaked them to the bone, long after Osamu had turned a corner and disappeared from sight. 

-

“Why’re we here?” Kita asked, gazing curiously at the folded pile of shirts Ushijima had left behind. Tooru fiddled with the switch on the lighter in their hand, careful not to set off the flame. It was the same set up as weeks ago, when Tooru first attempted to burn the remains of the man they’d loved, the man who killed them. The only difference this time was Kita’s presence, seated beside Tooru with a pensive look on their face as they twisted the cap of the bottle of lighter fluid back and forth, loosening and tightening and loosening and tightening on an endless loop.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tooru asked, not liking how hollow their voice sounded. 

Kita was quiet for several moments, before they said, “No.” 

Tooru startled, turning wide eyes on their friend. “You mean it’s  _ not  _ obvious that we’re here to burn Ushiwaka’s shit? Even though there’s literally a lighter, lighter fluid, and a trashcan to keep the fire contained?”

Kita shrugged. “Ya don’t seem all that vindictive.”

Tooru scoffed. “What does that have to so with it?”

“People angry enough to burn other people’s things tend to actually  _ seem  _ angry,” Kita told them. 

“I am angry,” Tooru said, their voice clipped. “I’m infuriated.” 

“Okay,” Kita said. “Then let’s start.” 

“Fine,” Tooru huffed, leaning forward and grabbing the first shirt off the top of the pile. It was an ugly thing, a button-down Tooru had never allowed Ushijima to wear around them because of the horrendous pattern. They used to put up a fuss about how it was blinding them every time Ushijima so much as took it out of the closet. Tooru lifted it from the pile, their hand hovering over the trashcan, but for the life of them they couldn’t drop it in. 

“Let it go,” Kita said, not unkindly. 

“I’m working on it,” Tooru snapped. “It’s fucking hard to do this, you know.”

Kita shrugged. “Then I’ll do it.” They sat forward slightly, reaching for the shirt, but Tooru lashed out and shoved them away so hard that they overbalanced and fell backward onto the living room floor. Heavy, oppressive silence settled over the room so suddenly that Tooru felt as though  _ they’d  _ been the one to fall, as if someone had yanked the rug out from underneath them in the blink of an eye.

Kita stared up at Tooru, their eyes blown wide from shock, their hand still half raised. Tooru’s hand was shaking where it still clutched Ushijima’s shirt. 

“Sorry,” Tooru mumbled, their voice too loud in the silent room. Kita blinked once, twice, before they gingerly started making their way back to a sitting position. They were sitting a little further away this time, just barely out of reach. Shame burned in the pit of Tooru’s stomach. 

“‘S fine,” Kita dismissed. They hesitated, their hands fidgeting where they rested in their lap, their lips pressed into a thin line. “Are ya sure this is what ya want?”

“Of course it is,” Tooru said. 

Kita just gazed at them, their facial expression unreadable. Tooru’s skin itched; they hated not being in control, hated not knowing what their companions were thinking. Kita was just so hard to read sometimes, so neutral that Tooru had no way of reading even a little bit of what was going on in Kita’s mind. 

“What if it isn’t?” Tooru asked, caving under the pressure of Kita’s indecipherable gaze. “What if I don’t want this? What then?”

“That’s okay,” Kita said. It almost seemed like they were going to say more, but instead they turned to face the rest of the room, pulling their knees up to their chest. 

“What do I do now?” Tooru asked, their face twisting, their eyes burning. Their hands trembled furiously, the shirt practically slipping through their fingers. 

Kita frowned. “Why dontcha want this?”

“Because I can’t burn his things,” Tooru said. 

“Why?” Kita pressed. 

“Because I don’t want to,” Tooru replied, a knot of anxiety seizing in their chest. 

“Why?” Kita asked again.

“Because I don’t want to get rid of him!” Tooru blurted, their vision blurring with unshed tears.

Kita was quiet for several moments, before they finally asked, “Why?”

Tooru said nothing.

“Why?” Kita asked again. At Tooru’s prolonged silence, they repeated it once more. “Why? Why, why, why—”

“Because he took the last piece of me!” Tooru exploded. “How can I burn him away when he has all that I am?”

Silence reigned for a few moments. 

“You are yer own person, Oikawa,” Kita said, their voice soft but defeated. 

“Am I?” Tooru challenged. “Or am I just a plate everybody else has picked clean? Do I even exist without other people? Am I anybody when I don’t have somebody? Am I worth  _ anything _ , when I’ve lost everything I was ever good for?” 

Kita didn’t say anything for so long that Tooru almost thought they weren’t going to respond at all. 

“I think ya need closure,” they finally said. “Real closure. Not a brawl in the streets.”

“Come with me?” Tooru asked. 

Kita hummed softly. “‘Course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [singing] This Chapter Is Being Posted Late Cause I Forgot It Was Friday
> 
> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i finished writing this fic so now i just hav eto post weekly and im emo i am going to miss this :,(
> 
> anyway uhh,, be gay do crime see u next time


	11. Chapter 11

The train ride to Ushijima’s new apartment was silent. He had a roommate, according to what he told Oikawa over text and Oikawa told Shinsuke with a strange hollowness in their voice. Oikawa was seated beside Shinsuke, holding a cardboard box of all of Ushijima’s things that had ben left at the apartment. The only thing left was the sheet on the bed, and that was only because Oikawa’s knee had given out when the two of them were trying to take it off. Shinsuke wasn’t sure that Oikawa’s knee had really been acting up, didn’t quite believe that Oikawa didn’t just want to keep the sheet even though they were trying to purge all signs of Ushijima from Oikawa’s life.

The walk from the train station to Ushijima’s apartment passed in similar silence, until the two of them were standing in the hallway outside the door to his apartment. Shinsuke lifted their hand to knock, Oikawa’s hands full holding the box, but they hesitated and turned to Oikawa. 

“Are ya sure about this?” Shinsuke asked. “Are ya sure yer ready?”

“I’m sick of being hung up on this ass-clown,” Oikawa snapped. “Just knock on the door already.”

Shinsuke sighed and did as told, knocking three times on the door before they took a step back to wait for Ushijima or his roommate to let them in. Shinsuke and the roommate were asked to come, both for moral support and because neither Oikawa nor Ushijima believed they could have a civil exchange without it escalating, like it did all those weeks ago in the street. 

After a few seconds, a man with wavy platinum hair pulled the door open, his narrowed eyes examining Shinsuke and Oikawa before he stepped to the side and gestured for the two of them to enter the apartment. The tips of his hair were much darker than the rest of his hair, Shinsuke noticed, much like their own. As Oikawa and Shinsuke removed their shoes, the man squinted down at them. 

“I’m Semi,” he declared. “Ushijima’s roommate. I presume you’re Oikawa and Kita?” 

“Yes,” Shinsuke said, after realizing Oikawa wouldn’t be answering anybody but Ushijima today. Maybe not even him. 

“Right,” Semi said, once the two of them had straightened up once again. “Come on. Ushijima’s in the kitchen.”

Shinsuke and Oikawa followed Semi into the kitchen, where Ushijima was sitting at the table waiting for them. There was a pot of tea and four cups in the center of the table, but it seemed to have gone untouched since it was put there. There was condensation gathering on the outside of it, implying it’d been cooling for a while now. 

Oikawa took their seat at the table, dropping the box on the table next to the teacups before sitting down heavily in the chair directly across from Ushijima. Shinsuke sat next to them, Semi taking the seat beside Ushijima. 

There was a beat of heavy silence, until finally Ushijima cleared his throat and spoke. “Thank you for returning my things,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“Whatever,” Oikawa huffed, their arms crossed over their chest as they glared daggers at Ushijima. 

Ushijima shifted his weight, glancing once at Semi out of the corner of his eye before he opened his mouth to speak once more. “I would like to apologize,” he said. 

“Then do it,” Oikawa said primly, raising an eyebrow. 

Ushijima hesitated. “I am sorry if my actions have caused you undue pain,” he said, his voice stilted and awkward. Shinsuke frowned as he went on; the words didn’t sound genuine, to Shinsuke’s ears. They sounded fake, rehearsed. As if Ushijima was only saying it because he knew he had to. Shinsuke’s gaze shifted momentarily to Semi sitting beside Ushijima, watching him carefully. The words sounded as though  _ someone else  _ had told Ushijima what to say. “It was not my intention to hurt you.”

Oikawa scoffed, loudly. “You fucking dumped me, Ushiwaka,” they retorted. “A week after I lost literally everything I had going for me. Don’t give me that bullshit.” 

“I’m being honest,” Ushijima said, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t care,” Oikawa replied. “I don’t care about your apology and I don’t forgive you.”

“Then why did you come?” Ushijima asked. “If not to hear me out?” 

“Because I only want to know one thing from you,” Oikawa said, sitting forward with their palms pressed flat on the tabletop. “Tell me why you did it.” 

Ushijima visibly faltered. “I’ve told you before, our relationship wasn’t progressing well, so I made an executive decision—”

“I dated you for nine months,” Oikawa interrupted, glaring. “I can tell when you’re fucking lying, Ushiwaka.” 

Ushijima frowned, working his jaw. The tension between the two of them was building, the temperature in the room rising every time one of them jibed the other. “I didn’t like the direction our relationship was going in so I made the choice to end it. That’s the whole truth, Oikawa. I’m sorry if it disappoints you.” 

Oikawa muttered something under their breath that Shinsuke couldn’t pick up. 

Ushijima’s frown deepened. “What was that?”

“I  _ said,”  _ Oikawa said, stiffening as their voice climbed up in decibels, “that wasn’t your choice to make! There were  _ two of us  _ in that relationship, in case you forgot how to count!”

Ushijima stood, his face set in a serious line. “This conversation isn’t going anywhere constructive. Please come back when you’ve gotten your emotions and pride in check.”

Oikawa jumped to their feet, following Ushijima out of the room into the living room where they’d first entered the apartment. Semi and Shinsuke exchanged glances, before quickly following their friends. 

“My pride?” Oikawa exclaimed. “My  _ pride?  _ This doesn’t have anything to do with my pride! This has to do with  _ you  _ being a shitty fucking douchebag who fucking  _ left me!  _ Out of  _ nowhere!”  _

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t see the signs,” Ushijima started. 

“And it’s not my fault you didn’t give me any fucking signs to begin with!” Oikawa retorted, jabbing a finger into Ushijima’s chest. Ushijima grabbed their wrist, forcing them away from him. 

  
“You’re being irrational,” Ushijima said. 

“ _ You don’t get to tell me what I am!”  _ Oikawa exploded, suddenly rearing forward and punching Ushijima in the face. Shinsuke lurched forward, Semi hot on their heels to break up the quickly escalating brawl. “Tell me why you left me!” Oikawa demanded, throwing another punch that echoed throughout the apartment with a sickening crunch of bones. 

Ushijima straightened up, holding a hand over his jaw before his eyes narrowed and he suddenly punched Oikawa in the nose, sending Oikawa stumbling backward. Oikawa tripped over the corner of the couch and fell to the floor, crying out as their knee snagged on the couch cushion and likely worsened their still-recovering injury. Ushijima paid it no mind, towering over Oikawa with his fists clenched. 

Oikawa staggered to their feet, holding onto the couch to regain their balance for less than a second before they lunged again, tackling Ushijima to the ground and straddling his waist as they pummeled his face, his chest, his shoulders with their fists. “Tell me why you left me!” they demanded. “Tell me why you left me, tell me why you left me, tell my why you—”

“I was in love with somebody else!” Ushijima roared. The apartment fell into silence so suddenly, it made Shinsuke’s ears ring. Oikawa, still sitting on Ushijima’s waist, straightened up slowly and stared down at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“You—you what?” 

“I was in love with somebody else,” Ushijima spat. “The whole fucking time. I never loved you. I only realized it after you had surgery. I’m sorry.” 

Oikawa stared for several long seconds, deflating slightly, until suddenly they stiffened again and punched Ushijima in the nose hard enough that Shinsuke heard it break. Shinsuke rushed forward, grabbing Oikawa around the waist and dragging them off of Ushijima as Semi tended to his injured nose. Oikawa whirled around, their fists flailing wildly, before one of them connected with Shinsuke’s cheek and sent Shinsuke reeling backward. Shinsuke held a hand to their cheek, their aching, probably already bruising cheek, and turned to stare at Oikawa with wide eyes. Oikawa was staring back at them, their eyes as big as saucers, their still-clenched fist hovering in the air where it’d made contact with Shinsuke’s face.

“I think,” Semi said suddenly, Ushijima’s arm around his shoulders as he helped the taller man to his feet, “It would be best if you both left.”

-

Tooru slammed the door to their apartment open when the two of them finally got home, their blood still boiling from the revelation at Ushijima’s. Kita followed them in, closing the door behind themself in a much quieter manner than Tooru had. Tooru ran an aching hand through their hair, tugging sharply at the ends of it. 

“What the fuck was that?” they demanded, whirling around to face Kita. Kita blinked in surprise, stumbling back a few steps with an arm half-raised to defend themself. Tooru ignored the guilt burning in their stomach, ignored the loathing they felt for themself when they realized that they’d somehow made their best friend afraid of them.

Kita clenched their hands into fists, lowering their arms to hang at their sides. “That was yer closure.” 

“You shouldn't have pulled me away,” Tooru hissed. “You should’ve let me keep hitting him. He deserved it!”

“If I’da let ya hit him ‘til ya felt vindicated, ya woulda killed him,” Kita said, frowning up at Tooru. 

“And what if I had?” Tooru demanded. “He doesn’t deserve to live! He needs to pay for what he did to me!” 

“He didn’t do this to ya!” Kita retorted. “Why’s it always hafta be somebody else’s fault?” 

“I didn’t destroy myself,” Tooru snapped. “This isn’t my fault. I didn’t do  _ any _ of this.” 

“But couldn't it be possible that ya did?” Kita pressed. “Couldn’t it be possible that ya made a willin’ choice to devote yer everythin’ to someone who’d eventually leave ya? Isn’t it possible that ya overworked yerself and ruined yer own knee?” 

“Why are you turning this on me?” Tooru demanded. “I’m not the one at fault here!”

“Why’re ya so angry?” Kita challenged. “That was yer closure. Ya finally know why he left ya, ya know that he never loved ya, so there’s no point in still bein’ hung up on him. Yer free now.”

“No,” Tooru said. 

“Ain’t nothin’ holdin’ ya back now,” Kita continued. 

“No!” Tooru repeated, holding their hands over their ears. 

“‘S time to fuckin’ move on, Oikawa!” Kita spat. “Let go of him!”

“ _ No!”  _ Tooru exploded, turning their back on Kita. 

“Why can’t ya just let it die?” Kita asked, their voice suddenly level. 

“Because it killed me,” Tooru spat. “I have to avenge my own pathetic life.”

“‘S been months,” Kita said, almost sounding like they were pleading with Tooru. “‘S been  _ months,  _ Oikawa. Refusin’ to move on is only gonna make ya miserable. It won’t fix yer knee and it won’t make him love ya.”

“I don’t care,” Tooru said. 

“Just let him go,” Kita said again. 

Tooru scowled. “ _ You _ did this to me. This is your fault.” 

“How?” Kita asked. 

“You told me to go to him,” Tooru huffed. “You told me to get closure.” 

“Yer pushin’ me away,” Kita said. “Yer pushin’ me away ‘cause that’s all ya know how to do.” 

“Don’t act all high and mighty,” Tooru laughed humorlessly. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been ignoring all of your friends for months.”

“Least I’m makin’ an effort to fix it,” Kita said coldly. “Yer just ruinin’ yer own life at this point.”

Tooru scoffed. “You’re no better than me.”

“Maybe not,” Kita said. “But this is still yer fault.”

Somewhere behind Tooru, the door opened and closed and suddenly Tooru was alone with their thoughts, their anger, their aching fists and aching knee. Tooru turned and stared at the closed door, at the place where Kita had just been, and felt their stomach sink. 

“Fuck, Tooru,” they muttered. “Why’d you have to go and ruin it?” They sighed. “Why do you ruin everything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late update bc technically it is friday for another 3hrs for me :clown:
> 
> happy holidays to anyone who celebrates this time of year <33
> 
> also this wouldve been up sooner BUT i was writing a sappy hallmark movie-esque atsukita fic if anyone wants to check that out right [ here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329756)
> 
> (also i definitely didnt edit this very well so pls be kind if u find a typo)
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time!


	12. Chapter 12

Shinsuke didn’t realize how much time they spent with Oikawa until the two of them stopped talking to each other. It was easy to be swept along in the ups and downs of Oikawa’s personality, easy to let Oikawa’s outgoing personality dominate the conversations and occupy nearly all of Shinsuke’s free time. 

And then, not even a week after their fight, Shinsuke realized that they didn’t really like the sound of their own voice, the niggling insecurities and self-loathing sentiments echoing around their mind at all hours of the day.

Shinsuke tipped their head back to gaze up at the rapidly darkening sky. The fading light of the sunset was painting the street in streaks of orange and magenta, everything tinged with an outline of pure gold. Shinsuke had never worked this late since coming to the city, had typically been scheduled on morning or afternoon shifts that let out long before sundown. But now that they were alone, now that their only friend turned out to be less than great, Shinsuke found that they didn’t have a reason to go home early, didn’t have a reason for free time. 

Shinsuke glanced over their shoulder, through the window of the flower shop where they worked, and saw their coworker behind the counter wave them away, wave them home. She mouthed,  _ “Be free,”  _ and Shinsuke quirked a small, amused smile at her antics before they sighed and turned to head in the direction of home. They were intending to take the long way home, but before they really knew what they were doing, their feet were taking them the normal way. 

The way that passed Onigiri Miya. 

Even worse, Shinsuke couldn’t stop themself from going into the shop. The shop wasn’t supposed to close for another hour or so, long enough that Shinsuke didn’t really feel bad about coming in and possibly interrupting Osamu’s closing routine. Osamu was wiping down the counter when Shinsuke walked in, a small bell overhead ringing quietly throughout the otherwise empty shop. 

Osamu looked up, and his expression shifted into something carefully blank, carefully unreadable. “Kita,” he greeted. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Shinsuke hesitated, lingering in the doorway. They brushed a lock of hair behind their ear, taking a step further into the shop. “Had a taste for onigiri.”

Osamu blinked. Something passed over his face, and some of the darker shadows lightened, the sharper edges softening. He wasn’t smiling, not yet, but—Shinsuke could see a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

Osamu never had been very good at holding a grudge. “Yer in luck,” he said, finally allowing a slight grin to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Onigiri happens to be the house specialty.” 

Shinsuke laughed quietly and approached the counter. “‘S it really?” they asked. “Never woulda guessed.”

Osamu hummed, picking up his rag again. “Gimme a holler when yer done lookin’ at the menu,” he said, resuming his work cleaning the counters. Shinsuke turned their attention to the menu, taking a seat at one of the stools placed in front of the counter. They dropped their bag at their feet, tapping their fingertips against the countertop as they browsed the options. 

After a few minutes, Osamu seemed to finish whatever he was working on and walked back over to where Shinsuke was sitting, adjusting his cap. “Anythin’ catch yer eye?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned his hip against the counter. 

Shinsuke tore their eyes away from the menu, turning to face Osamu. “The tuna and spring onion onigiri seems interesting,” they said, reaching down to pull out their wallet. They handed Osamu the necessary payment, and watched as he quickly entered it into the cash register. 

“Comin’ right up,” he said, walking to the back to prepare the onigiri. Shinsuke turned to study the shop, taking in the details they hadn’t noticed during the first time they were inside. Osamu decorated it rather simply, plain tiling and sleek furniture making it modern enough to fit the city’s aesthetic, but the coat rack by the door and the framed photos hung on the walls around the shop gave a small taste of their hometown, a small taste of _Osamu_ peppered throughout. Shinsuke had never pictured themself as fitting in anywhere in the city, always thought they’d feel at least a little bit out of place, but here in Osamu’s shop, in the restaurant that was a perfect blend of folksy and forward, Shinsuke felt at ease. They weren’t the same country bumpkin who moved to the city, but they weren’t a city slicker either, and this shop was somehow such a perfect blend of both that Shinsuke never wanted to leave. 

For the first time in maybe months, Shinsuke felt  _ home.  _ Wasn’t that odd?

“Here ya go,” Osamu said, sliding a plate across the counter with Shinsuke’s onigiri resting on it. Shinsuke said a quiet thanks before they began to eat, grinning at the flavor. 

“‘S good,” they said. “Yer a good cook, Osamu.”

“I’d hope so,” Osamu drawled. “‘S only my entire livelihood.”

Shinsuke chuckled, continuing to eat. Osamu seemed content to observe, leaning against the counter a few paces away from where Shinsuke was sitting. They passed the next several minutes in silence, Osamu eventually pulling out his phone to scroll through it while Shinsuke polished off the onigiri. Once they’d finished, Osamu took their plate back into the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later empty-handed. 

“Ya seem different,” Osamu started, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room. “How come yer here? I thought ya’d avoid the place, since we ain’t friends anymore, ‘n all that.” 

Shinsuke paused. What  _ had  _ brought them here? Was it their own loneliness? Their own self-loathing making them desperate to be around  _ someone,  _ someone who used to know them and used to love them and probably didn’t think they were the worst person alive?

Or was it just a need to be seen? A need to interact with someone who knew who they were, both before and after?

A need to talk to someone who felt like home? A need to  _ be  _ home, even though Shinsuke didn’t know where that was?

“I dunno,” Shinsuke finally said, reaching up to brush their bangs out of their eyes. Their hair was getting long; they’d have to remember to cut it soon. 

“Just felt like it?” Osamu asked, and Shinsuke nodded. Osamu hummed, drumming his fingertips against the countertop. 

Shinsuke paused, considering their next words carefully before they spoke. “Y’know, just ‘cause we ain’t friends anymore,” they started, “don’t mean we can’t ever be friends.”

Osamu frowned, furrowing his eyebrows and scrunching up his nose in that way he always did when he was confused, or when he didn’t quite understand something. “Whaddya mean?”

Shinsuke folded their hands in their lap, their fingers curling around the bottom hem of their sweater. “D’ya think we could start over, Osamu?” 

Osamu squinted at them. Several seconds passed without a word from either of them, the shop eerily silent as the light dimmed outside. Finally, his face softened and he grinned. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t think we can start over.” 

Shinsuke stiffened. “You—what?”

“I know too much ‘bout ya to ever try ‘n start over,” Osamu replied, leaning forward on his elbows on the countertop. His grin widened, just slightly, and Shinsuke felt as though the overhead lights had suddenly dimmed to a spotlight, like the rest of the world was dark apart from the two of them. “But friends reconnect all the time, yeah?”

Shinsuke blinked, the tension bleeding out of their shoulders as a small smile spread across their face. “Yeah,” they said. “Friends reconnect all the time.”

-

Tooru frowned down at their phone as yet another incoming message from Iwaizumi lit up the screen, the phone being the only thing illuminating the apartment where it rested on the kitchen table.

Their vision blurred before they could even fully process the message. Tooru sighed, flipping the phone face down on the table and burying their face in their hands. Their apartment hadn’t felt so oppressive before the fight with Kita; though, Tooru supposed that could’ve been because when Kita was around, when Kita was still their friend, they didn’t spend every minute in the apartment on their own, didn’t spend every minute staring at walls that used to hold photo frames and shelves that used to house stupid books about gardening and farming that Tooru didn’t give a shit about, and never opened once in all the time they’d had them to themself. When Kita was still their friend, Tooru had something to do other than physical therapy and the occasional appointment and staring endlessly at the walls where Ushijima’s photos once were, the drawers where Ushijima’s clothes once were, the places where Ushijima once was. 

Tooru lifted their head, tipping it back to stare up at the ceiling. “Should I move?” they wondered aloud. “Would it make him go away?”

But where would they go? They lived here because it was close to their university, and they stayed here not only because it was convenient but also because it was close to the clinic where they did physical therapy. Moving would mean starting over entirely, uprooting the life Tooru had started and transplanting it somewhere else where they might not thrive, and Tooru wasn’t sure if they wanted that. 

And besides—moving felt like admitting that Ushijima had won. Not only was it admitting that he’d taken Tooru’s heart and smashed it to a million pieces, not only that he’d left Tooru alone in the middle of the fucking ocean, but also that Tooru was drowning without him. 

How fucking pathetic was it that Tooru was still hung up on him, still stringing themself along on their path of heartbreak, even though he’d apparently never even loved them? 

God, were they wrong about him. Tooru ran their hands through their hair, tugging sharply at the ends of it as their phone buzzed and buzzed, friends trying to reach out and friends trying to apologize and friends trying to  _ talk  _ to them when Tooru didn’t have a single fucking thing to say to any of them. To anybody at all, really. 

They missed Iwaizumi. They missed the easy camaraderie that passed between the two of them, missed having someone who knew them better than they knew themself. They missed being held in Iwaizumi’s arms, missed feeling like Iwaizumi was there with them, there for them. Missed their best friend, missed their first love that never went anywhere. 

They missed Makki and Mattsun, missed how simple and casual their friendship with them had been. Missed not having to think, not having to be careful or cautious or worry about offending them because it was virtually impossible to offend people as outrageous as Makki and Mattsun.

They missed Kita. Kita was nice, and strong, and didn’t take anybody’s shit even though they were so quiet and seemed passive at first glance. It had been nice being Kita’s friend, nice having someone who understood the odd drifting sensation Tooru had been experiencing for weeks now, months even. It was easy to be Kita’s friend, because Kita never expected anything more than what Tooru gave them. Kita was a good friend. Kita deserved better than the shit Tooru gave them. 

Tooru missed Ushijima. They knew they shouldn’t, but they missed him anyway. They had loved him, really loved him, no matter what anybody said. Even knowing that he’d never loved them wasn’t enough to extinguish the flickering candle flame Tooru’s heart still burned for him, wasn’t enough to make them stop longing for his presence in the apartment that felt too big without him. 

Most of all, though, Tooru missed themself. They missed the person they used to be, before Iwaizumi left and before Ushijima ever came into their life. They missed the person they were growing to be with Kita by their side, missed looking in the mirror and seeing a person they didn’t entirely hate, a person who was bubbly and clever and outgoing and  _ happy,  _ even despite all of their flaws, all of their fears. 

Tooru wondered what happened to that person. They wondered when they lost that person. They wondered if they would ever be able to be that person again. 

They wondered if that person even still existed. 

Their phone was finally quiet now, as whoever had been messaging them evidently gave up trying. Tooru felt a pang of guilt in their gut, but it didn’t last long. In the morning, they could simply swipe their phone open, type out a quick lie about not seeing the messages, about falling asleep, about being busy with something or another. Nobody needed to know that Tooru didn’t have anything to do, nobody needed to know that Tooru couldn’t sleep a wink in a too-big, too-cold bed with a rip in the fitted sheet. 

Nobody needed to know that Tooru spent their evening sitting at their own kitchen table in the dark, contemplating everything they’ve lost, and thinking about all the ways that it was all their own fault. 

Tooru pressed the heels of their hands against their eyes. 

God, they were so sick of spiraling like this. Wasn’t there anyway out of this? Wasn't there some way to get up off the floor at rock bottom and pull themself back up? Wasn’t there any way to find the light at the end of the tunnel, without having to fall even deeper into the ravine?

How do they get rid of Ushijima’s ghost, following them at every turn? How do they find themself, after spending so many months lost? How do they recover from whatever the fuck happened to change and warp them into the shitty person they are now? How do they  _ heal?  _

Kita would probably know. Too bad Tooru ruined that. 

Like they ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a day late cause i forgot yesterday was friday :clown:
> 
> time is fake
> 
> uhh be gay do crime see u next time


	13. Chapter 13

It became a routine of sorts, for Shinsuke to walk past Onigiri Miya on the way home from work every day. On the slow days, they’d usually go in and keep Osamu company as he wiped down tables or the counters or counted the money in the register. On the busier days, when Shinsuke got off work in the early afternoon or when the shop was going through a rush, Shinsuke would simply do their best to catch Osamu’s eye as they passed outside the storefront window, waving slightly before continuing on toward home. 

It was raining again today, but it wasn’t hard enough to warrant rushing home. Shinsuke opened their umbrella as they stepped out of the flower shop, bidding their coworker goodbye and a quiet good luck for the rest of her shift as they started down the street. The rain was more like drizzling, light raindrops sprinkling the sidewalks and the pavement. 

Onigiri Miya was uncharacteristically empty for a Wednesday afternoon when Shinsuke peered in through the window as they walked by, prompting them to backtrack and go inside. They closed their umbrella and shook out the excess rainwater before wiping their wet shoes on the mat near the door, at the same time Osamu looked up from where he was counting the cash in the register and waved. 

“Afternoon,” he greeted, straightening a stack of bills in his hand before he set it on the counter and made a note of the total amount on a nearby piece of paper. Shinsuke hummed, making their way over to the counter and taking their favorite place—the third stool from the left, right next to the cash register. “Hungry?”

“Mm,” Shinsuke replied, “not particularly.”

Osamu snorted. “Then why’d ya come into a restaurant?” 

“My friend works here,” Shinsuke told him. Osamu chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled out a fresh stack of bills from the register to count them. The two of them lapsed into comfortable silence, as Shinsuke pulled out their phone and scrolled through first their email, to see if their professors had graded anything or reached out with important news regarding class, before they moved onto social media. 

“Atsumu got scouted,” Shinsuke said, clicking on one of Atsumu’s most recent posts boasting a selfie with his new team. “The MSBY Black Jackals.”

Osamu grunted. “Bastard wouldn’t tell me who wanted him,” he muttered. “Said I had to wait ‘til he posted ‘bout it.”

Shinsuke smiled softly. “Ah, y’know Atsumu. Always a flair for the dramatic.”

Osamu hummed. “Anythin’ else interestin’ goin’ on?”

Shinsuke continued to scroll, but aside from a selfie Suna posted with a leaf that looked like Shrek (in his opinion, though Shinsuke didn’t really see it), there wasn’t much their mutual friends were doing. “Ya must be happy for Atsumu, yeah?”

Osamu grunted again. “Was only a matter of time ‘fore ‘Tsumu got scouted, yanno. Bet Dad’s all twisted over the fact that ‘Tsumu ain’t gonna finish his degree.”

Shinsuke shrugged. “Degree in what?” they asked. “Volleyball? Atsumu’s always only been focused on the one thing. We all knew that.”

Osamu was quiet for a moment, pausing where he’d been arranging the stack of bills in his hand, before he looked up at Shinsuke and frowned. “D’ya ever regret quittin’ volleyball?” he asked.

Shinsuke furrowed their brow. “No. No, I don’t. Why d’ya ask?” 

Osamu shrugged. “‘S just—all our friends are still goin’ pro and still playin’ ‘n stuff ‘n then you ‘n I are just—”

“There’s nothin’ sayin’ someone who played volleyball in high school has to pursue volleyball afterward,” Shinsuke pointed out. 

Osamu frowned. “Yeah, but—we were so good at it.”

Shinsuke shrugged, tucking their phone away into their jacket pocket. “Yer good at cookin’, too. Ya can have more than one passion, yanno.”

Osamu sighed. “Yeah. I know.” 

Shinsuke paused, before they smiled and reached out to place their hand atop one of Osamu’s. Osamu’s hands, they noticed, were much larger than Shinsuke’s. Shinsuke wondered how they’d never known that, even though it wasn’t surprising; Osamu was several inches taller than Shinsuke, with a broader frame and more meat on his bones. Shinsuke, while not stick-thin or gangly by any means, was much smaller than they’d ever known Osamu to be. 

“‘S’okay,” they said. “Every famous volleyball player’s gotta have their non-volleyball friends cheerin’ ‘em on in the stands, yeah? Our friends are just lucky; they’ve got two of us.” 

Osamu chuckled, the crease between his eyebrows smoothing and his face softening. “Yer right,” he said. “I dunno why I forgot that yer the wise ol’ owl of our friend group.” 

“Maybe it’s ‘cause I’ve been real stupid lately,” Shinsuke replied. Osamu laughed.

“Maybe,” he agreed, reaching up to adjust his hat. He hesitated, returning his attention to the bills in his hand. “Are ya ever gonna tell me what made ya disappear? Ever gonna tell any of us?”

Shinsuke stiffened, willing the sudden knot of anxiety out of their chest. They took a deep breath, trying to dash away the nerves before Osamu could realize what his innocuous question had done to Shinsuke. “Maybe,” they replied. “Maybe one day. But—”

“Not today,” Osamu guessed, glancing up at Shinsuke from beneath the brim of his cap. “‘S’okay, yanno? Ya don’t gotta tell me anythin’ until yer ready.” 

“I owe ya an explanation,” Shinsuke said quietly. 

Osamu shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe you’ll owe me one day. But that day ain’t today.” 

He went back to counting the money in the cash register, and Shinsuke felt the tension slowly bleeding out of their frame. The comfortable silence returned, and Shinsuke suddenly felt warm from head to toe. 

Osamu understood. Osamu wasn’t going to force them to say anything, wasn’t going to force them to talk about it until they felt ready. Osamu was just content to be their friend, explanation or no. 

“Not today,” Shinsuke said. Osamu looked up. Shinsuke hesitated, before they smiled slightly and said, “But soon. Promise.”

Osamu grinned. “Alright. ‘Soon’ sounds good to me.”

-

The door slammed open, startling Tooru where they were laying on the couch. Tooru hissed as their bad leg hit the floor, sending a spike of pain up their knee. They turned to look at who had entered, only to see Hanamaki and Matsukawa standing in the doorway of their apartment.

Tooru groaned, laying back down. “What are you two doing here?”

“We’re here because you died,” Hanamaki replied, stalking over to the couch and dragging Tooru by the wrists up to a sitting position. “And Mattsun works in a morgue. He’s just doing his job.”

“I generally like to hang out with living things,” Matsukawa added, tucking his hands into his pockets as he followed Hanamaki over to the couch. Tooru grumbled and rubbed their eyes with the heels of their hands. 

“Okay, well, I’m alive,” they huffed. “You can go now.”

“Nope,” Hanamaki replied, popping the ‘p’. “We aren’t going anywhere until you get your ass off the couch and, like, a take a shower or something because dude, you reek.”

Tooru scowled. “Don’t call me dude.”

Hanamaki rolled his eyes, but acquiesced and raised his hands in surrender anyway. “Okay, fine. Thude, you smell like a garbage can.”

“I smell like what I am,” Tooru joked, their tone slightly sing-songy. 

Hanamaki sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, Oikawa. I thought you were past this.” 

Tooru grunted. “Past what?”

“The part where you ignore Mattsun and I and act like we aren’t your friends,” Hanamaki retorted. “I mean, seriously! Mattsun shouldn’t have to pick your lock just to make sure you haven’t fucking died and started to rot!”

“Oh, is that how you got in?” Tooru asked, their eyes drifting over to the still-open door to their apartment. 

“That wasn’t the point,” Hanamaki huffed. 

Tooru sighed. “Can’t you guys just leave me alone?” 

“Why should we?” Hanamaki challenged. 

“Because I’m not the same person I used to be,” Tooru snapped. “I’m not the person you became friends with. I don’t know how to be your friend. I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore.”

“People change, Oikawa,” Hanamaki told them. “We aren’t the same people we were in our first year of high school when we met. That’s not a bad thing.”

Tooru stared down at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. 

Hanamaki nudged their shin with his foot. “Come on, Oikawa. Tell Dr. Makki what’s really bugging you.”

Tooru laughed humorlessly. “What  _ isn’t  _ bothering me would be a shorter list.” 

Hanamaki said nothing, waiting for Tooru to continue. Tooru deflated slightly. 

“What happens when Iwa-chan comes back?” Tooru asked, their voice smaller than they would’ve liked it to be. “What happens when he gets back from America and he sees that I’m not the same person I used to be? I’m not the person he was best friends with? I’m not the person he  _ wants  _ to be friends with? What if he—what if he decides I’m not worth it?” Tooru paused. “What if he leaves me?”

“Okay, you’ve clearly been on your own for too long if you believe any of that would actually happen,” Hanamaki drawled. 

“No, I haven’t,” Tooru snapped. 

“ _ Yes _ , you have,” Hanamaki replied. “Iwaizumi has been your best friend since you guys were like, toddlers or something. If he hasn’t left yet, he isn’t going to.”

“You don’t  _ know  _ that,” Tooru insisted. 

“Well, you don’t know that he’s gonna leave you,” Hanamaki said. 

“He already has!” Tooru exploded. Silence fell over the room, both Hanamaki and Matsukawa staring wide-eyed down at Tooru as they breathed heavily, trying to regain control of their emotions. “Iwa-chan’s already done with me,” they continued, much calmer than they had been a moment ago. “He finally remembered what a shitty person I am.” 

Neither Hanamaki nor Matsukawa said anything for several long moments. 

“He’s coming home for a break in a week,” Matsukawa finally said. Tooru looked up, frowning. “You should try and talk to him then.” He grabbed Hanamaki’s hand, leading him away from Tooru and toward the door. “Come on. I think Oikawa needs some time to themself.”

Hanamaki didn’t put up a fight. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed throughout the suddenly silent apartment, and all Tooru could think was that it seemed fitting. 

Matsukawa had always been good at reading people. Aside from Iwaizumi, he was the only one who could ever tell what Tooru wanted, what they needed. 

He finally got it wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt edit this lmfao
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time


	14. Chapter 14

Shinsuke didn’t want to be alone. 

Their grandmother’s birthday was coming up, the first since she passed, and they didn’t know how they felt but they did know that the one thing they didn’t want to be was alone. Visiting Oikawa was out of the question, so Shinsuke grabbed the first outfit they could find and left, heading for the only other place where they might find some semblance of comfort.

There was somebody else in Onigiri Miya when Shinsuke arrived, but Shinsuke didn’t pay them any mind, just made a beeline for their favorite seat at the counter. It wasn’t until a familiar voice drawled, “Well. I’ll be damned,” that they realized exactly who they’d just sat four barstools away from.

Their initial response was to die on the spot, which on second thought seemed a tad dramatic and more like something Oikawa would say than anything Shinsuke would do. Perhaps they’d been rubbing off on Shinsuke in the last few months. 

After a few moments passed in slightly uncomfortable silence, Shinsuke greeted, “Hello, Atsumu.”

“Kita,” Atsumu replied. “Where ya been? Didja die?”

“No,” Shinsuke replied, even though they could tell Atsumu was just trying to get a rise out of them and wasn’t serious. “I moved.”

“Phone numbers?” Atsumu asked. 

Shinsuke furrowed their eyebrows. “What?”

“Didja move phone numbers, too?” Atsumu elaborated. “Seein’ as ya can’t be assed to text us back.”

Shinsuke winced. They opened their mouth to respond, but were saved from having to explain themself by Osamu returning from where he’d been preparing Atsumu’s onigiri order in the kitchen. Osamu slid a plate across the counter to Atsumu, not even batting an eye at Shinsuke’s sudden appearance.

“Mornin’ Kita,” Osamu greeted. Shinsuke waved. Atsumu turned wide eyes on his brother, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. 

“Ya knew ‘bout this?” Atsumu exclaimed, appearing affronted. 

“‘Course I did,” Osamu retorted. “He’s been comin’ to  _ my  _ shop _. _ ‘S kinda hard to miss hair like that, yanno.”

Shinsuke’s hand crept up to their overgrown hair, fiddling with the ends of it self-consciously. Atsumu huffed and pouted at his brother, prompting Osamu to roll his eyes and turn away.

To Shinsuke, he asked, “Can I get ya anythin’?”

Shinsuke shook their head. 

Osamu quirked an eyebrow. “Yer sure?”

Shinsuke nodded. “I’m sure. Thank you for offerin’.”

“Don’t mind,” Osamu replied, reaching beneath the counter for a rag to start polishing the countertop. Atsumu ate his onigiri with a grumpy frown on his face, all the while glaring at Shinsuke. Osamu swatted at Atsumu with the rag, prompting a loud whining protest from the false blond. “Quit yer glarin’, ya big asshole.”

Atsumu squawked at his brother, a weight lifting off of Shinsuke’s shoulders now that he’d stopped glowering at them. After a few moments, Atsumu fell silent and squinted up at his brother, reaching up to flick the brim of Osamu’s hat. Osamu scowled and leaned away. 

“What’s that for?” he muttered. 

“I don’t get ya,” Atsumu declared. “Yer so upset ‘bout Kita cuttin’ us all off ‘n then all the sudden yer defendin’ him? What changed ‘tween now ‘n then?”

“I actually talked to him,” Osamu huffed. “‘N I gave him the benefit of the doubt, ‘cause I know he woulda done it for you or me.”

_ He, him, he, him.  _ Shinsuke’s skin itched. They could tell them, could just blurt it out and it wouldn’t sting as much anymore, but the words didn’t want to leave Shinsuke’s mouth. Shinsuke sighed, fiddling with the ends of their too-long hair, and murmured, “‘M sittin’ right here, yanno.” 

“‘Course I know yer there,” Atsumu retorted. “Ya came runnin’ in here all in a whirl ‘n then ya didn’t even acknowledge me. Guess I shoulda been preparin’ for that, though, given the last three months.”

“Stop it,” Shinsuke said, their eyes burning. It was mortifying, being caught by Atsumu like this. They’d come here for comfort, come here because they didn’t want to be alone a week from her birthday, but Atsumu’s presence, his subtle digs and the guilt panging Shinsuke’s stomach was only making the whole situation worse. Shinsuke reached under the hem of their sweater’s sleeve and scratched their wrist to relieve some of the itch, some of the discomfort. 

“Why?” Atsumu asked sarcastically. “Can’t handle talkin’ ‘bout the shitty things ya did to us all? When we ain’t never done anythin’ like this to ya?” 

“Please stop,” Shinsuke said again, their voice quieter this time. Atsumu had always been hard to talk over, especially when he really got going. In high school it’d been different, because he’d had a healthy dose of fear for Shinsuke as his team captain, as the one who could talk to the coaches and get him benched if they saw fit, but ever since Shinsuke graduated, Atsumu had been much bolder toward Shinsuke than he used to be. Shinsuke used to like it, used to like that he felt more confident and comfortable enough around Shinsuke to be his true self, but at the moment Shinsuke longed for the days when Atsumu feared them and would never have spoken to them like this.

“‘Tsumu, cut it out,” Osamu piped up, frowning at Shinsuke. His eyes were trained on the place where Shinsuke’s wrists and hands were hidden underneath the countertop, as if he could tell that whatever Shinsuke was doing with their hands probably wasn’t entirely safe. 

Atsumu paid his brother no mind. “‘M just sayin’, ‘s all,” he declared, his voice taking on a lighter tone despite the heavy accusation still sitting beneath the surface. “He’s the who that ghosted us. Not the other way ‘round.”

Shisnsuke shook their head, scratching harder and closing their eyes in hopes of dispelling some of the mortified, shameful,  _ burning  _ tears. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Osamu snapped, his voice suddenly sounding much closer than it had a moment ago. Hands on their shoulders gently guided Shinsuke out of their seat and behind the counter, though their eyes were trained on their feet the whole time. 

“Where’re ya goin’?” Atsumu called, and Shinsuke realized Osamu was the one leading them away. 

“Away from  _ you _ ,” Osamu snapped, the door to the kitchen closing behind him and Shinsuke. Shinsuke leaned against the nearest wall, squeezing their eyes shut. It was much quieter in the kitchen, much more peaceful and much easier for them to reign in their emotions. 

“Hey,” Osamu said gently, his hands traveling away from Shinsuke’s shoulders to their wrists. “Quit scratchin’.” He lifted Shinsuke’s hands, holding them in his own in between the two of them. He frowned down at Shinsuke, concern clear in his eyes. “Are ya okay?” 

Shinsuke nodded. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Osamu chastised. 

Shinsuke opened their mouth to speak, but choked on their words and ended up shaking their head as fresh tears welled up. It was humiliating to get emotional like this, especially in front of people who they’d hurt in the past and didn’t deserve to have to put all of Shinsuke’s broken pieces back together again. Part of taking care of oneself was supposed to be taking care of one’s emotional state. Shinsuke used to be good at that. 

Osamu pulled them in for a hug suddenly, one hand on the small of Shinsuke’s back holding them close, the other cradling the back of Shinsuke’s head. “It’s okay,” he said. “Ya don’t gotta tell me anythin’. Not ‘til yer ready.” The both of them were quiet for a moment, and all Shinsuke could hear was the steady thud of Osamu’s heartbeat, the gentle rhythm of his pulse pumping beneath his skin. “Yer hair’s gettin’ real long,” Osamu breathed. “Ya gonna cut it soon?”

“Maybe,” Shinsuke rasped, picking absently at a loose thread on Osamu’s t-shirt. “Hadn’t decided yet.”

“Okay,” Osamu said. “That’s okay.” He paused. “You can tell me anythin’—ya know that, right?”

Shinsuke hummed, resting their forehead against Osamu’s warm, solid chest. “I know.”

“Are ya sure yer okay, Kita?” Osamu asked. 

“No,” Shinsuke admitted. 

“Okay,” Osamu replied. “It’s okay if yer not, yanno.”

“Mm,” Shinsuke breathed. They closed their eyes, and for just a moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, holding each other close. For just a moment, they were the only two people in the world, and there was no reason for pain or panic or grief. Just the two of them, and the warmth that circled between their embrace. “I know.”

-

Tooru was halfway through a rerun of some shitty TV daytime drama they didn’t know the name of when there was a knock on their door. They glanced over at it, frowning, before they groaned and reached down to pick up their cane off of the floor. Their physical therapist had confiscated their crutches at Tooru’s last session, stating that Tooru needed to learn to walk without the help of crutches, which left Tooru with a simple, wooden cane that made them feel like a dinosaur. 

Whoever was behind the door knocked again. 

“I’m coming!” Tooru snapped. “Hold your fucking—”

Upon opening the door, all of the words died in Tooru’s mouth. Iwaizumi blinked up at them, one unimpressed eyebrow raised and a pale green suitcase sitting next to his feet. “Shittykawa,” he greeted. “I’m back.”

Tooru opened and shut their mouth several times, their tongue feeling like sandpaper. “Iwa-chan,” they said. “Why—why are you here?”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Hello to you, too.” He picked up the handle of his suitcase. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

Tooru squinted. “Well, I don’t know, Iwa-chan. Am I still a shitty person?”

“Always have been,” Iwaizumi grunted. 

Tooru rolled their eyes. Ordinarily, an insult from Iwaizumi might’ve produced an over the top reaction from Tooru, maybe a pout or a cry of indignance. But—they were just so  _ tired.  _ “Then why are you even here?”

Iwaizumi shot them a funny look. “‘Cause you’re my best friend, dumbass. I always stay with you during breaks.”

Tooru sighed, scrutinized him for a moment longer, then finally turned and hobbled back into the apartment, leaving the door open behind them. They could hear the quiet rolling of Iwaizumi’s suitcase as he followed Tooru inside, then the soft click of the door closing. Tooru flopped back on the couch, laying their cane on the floor beside it as Iwaizumi set his things down and took off his shoes near the door. Tooru turned to stare blankly at the TV, not absorbing whatever scandalous thing was going on in the drama they’d been watching before Iwaizumi’s arrival. 

Iwaizumi approached the couch, nudging Tooru’s outstretched legs. Tooru shifted slightly, waiting for Iwaizumi to sit down before they laid their legs across his lap. He glanced at Tooru for less than a second, before he cracked his knuckles, wringing his hands. 

“I know you want to,” Tooru murmured. “It’s okay. You won’t break me.”

Iwaizumi nodded stiffly, reaching down to shimmy the leg of Tooru’s sweatpants up past their knee brace. He methodically unstrapped the brace, laying it gingerly on the couch next to him, before he ever so gently began to knead the sore joint with his knuckles, his fingertips. Tooru jerked at the first touch, not used to the sensation after having spent so long with Iwaizumi in America and unable to massage their knee, but they relaxed a second later.

Several minutes passed, the only sound being the quiet hum of the actors on the TV. Tooru hissed as Iwaizumi’s knuckles found a particularly sensitive spot, prompting a quiet apology from the man. 

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asked, his voice soft. 

Tooru grunted. “Got hurt.”

Iwaizumi scoffed. “No shit. What did you  _ do  _ to it?”

“Nothing,” Tooru defended. “Ushiwaka just isn’t as good at taking care of me as my Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but for some reason his lips tugged up into a half-smile. 

Tooru lifted their good leg and nudged Iwaizumi with a sock-clad foot, grinning. “Aw, is Iwa-chan smiling? Does Iwa-chan love me?” 

Iwaizumi scowled, shoving Tooru’s good leg to the floor, jostling Tooru’s entire body. Tooru gasped, both from the minor shock of pain and the surprise of Iwaizumi shoving them. “Mean!” they cried. “Iwa-chan mean!”

Iwaizumi cowed slightly, bringing Tooru’s legs back onto his lap and resuming the massage. 

“I bet you do this for all the guys in America,” Tooru drawled, tipping their head back to face the ceiling.

Iwaizumi snorted. “Just you, dumbass.”

“Mm,” Tooru hummed, tapping a finger against their chin. “I don’t believe you. I know my Iwa-chan doesn’t look nearly as good as me, but someone in America has to find all that ruggish charm attractive.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He turned his attention down to Tooru’s knee, avoiding eye contact. He tried to hide it, tried to pretend he was just focused, but Tooru had known him for too long for him to be able to get away with something like that. “It doesn’t matter how many American guys throw themselves at my feet; I’ve got my heart set on someone else.”

Tooru gasped. “Iwa-chan has a  _ crush?” _ they exclaimed. “And he didn’t  _ tell me?  _ Iwa-chan, spill!”

“No,” Iwaizumi replied. 

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whined. “You have to tell me about your crushes; that’s best friend law! Haven't you ever seen a high school drama?”

“Of course I’ve seen them,” Iwaizumi retorted. “That’s practically all you lived on in high school.” 

“That’s because they were good,” Tooru defended, pouting. “For high school standards.”

“They were never good,” Iwaizumi said. “Not even in middle school.”

Tooru whined, nudging Iwaizumi with their good foot. “Then why’d you always watch them with me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Iwaizumi grunted. “I watched them because you liked them.”

Tooru froze. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi paused, his hands stilling. A thoughtful expression crossed his face, the kind that high school Tooru might’ve made fun of (“ _ You shouldn’t think, Iwa-chan. You might hurt yourself.”) _ . This time, though, Tooru said nothing, just watched and waited for Iwaizumi to take the lead.

“You know,” Iwaizumi finally said, his voice that soft tone yet again. It was simultaneously uncharacteristic and unfamiliar, the way one’s childhood home is foreign after so many years away from it and somehow also as ordinary as breathing. “You didn’t really smile much in high school.”

Tooru scoffed. “I have about a million selfies that disprove that statement, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi scowled. “I meant a  _ real  _ smile, dumbass. Not one of those phony fake things you used to wear all the time when we were at school or when fans somehow found you during matches.”

Tooru paused. They’d always known Iwaizumi was perceptive; how could they not, when the two of them had been best friends for nearly two decades? But—at a certain point, those smiles stopped being fake to even  _ Tooru.  _ Had Iwaizumi always known? Always been able to tell?

“You used to smile all the time when we were kids, y’know,” Iwaizumi recalled, relaxing again when Tooru didn’t continue arguing. “Everybody used to get a kick out of making you laugh, ‘cause it was so easy. Real ego boost for a seven-year-old.”

Tooru watched a small smile spread on Iwaizumi’s face, their breath catching. In this light, at this angle, Iwaizumi almost looked  _ soft.  _ Gentle. Iwaizumi had never been either of those things, not even when they were seven years old.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi’s smile dropped. “But then we hit middle school and you—your smiles disappeared. You were so  _ focused,  _ so determined to beat Shiratorizawa or die trying. And then Kageyama showed up, and I swear, I didn’t see you smile genuinely for at least three months.”

Tooru opened their mouth to speak, but found that they didn’t know what to say. Was there even anything  _ to _ say?

In any case, Iwaizumi didn’t seem finished yet. “When Makki got you into those stupid dramas in first year,” Iwaizumi continued, the smile ghosting across his face again, “at first I was annoyed. Because even when you were unhappy and constantly trying to make yourself better, trying to make yourself be—I dunno, good enough I guess—you were pushy. Always made me let you choose what we watched, and watching some shitty high school afternoon TV drama was the last thing I wanted to do.”

“What changed?” Tooru breathed. 

Iwaizumi glanced at them. “I saw  _ you _ . We were watching it for the first time, and I looked over at you to make fun of the show or make fun of you or  _ something  _ to curb the boredom, but then you were—you were  _ smiling.  _ A real one. I remember realizing that it was the first genuine smile I’d seen from you since  _ middle school.  _ And I figured anything that brought my smiley best friend back couldn’t be half bad.”

Tooru stared at him for several long seconds before they whined, loudly, covering their flushed face with their hands. They kicked him with their good leg, crying, “Iwa-chan! You can’t say things like that! It’s embarrassing!”

Iwaizumi just laughed, batting Tooru’s foot away and resuming his massage of Tooru’s bad knee. “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m  _ your  _ idiot,” Tooru countered, calming down. Iwaizumi shook his head, a fond smile playing on his features. The two of them lapsed into silence, Tooru turning their head to the side to gaze absently at the TV. “Hey, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi grunted. 

“I don’t think anybody’s ever cared about me like you do,” Tooru told him. “Not even Ushiwaka.”

Iwaizumi was quiet for several moments, before he said, “Well, he should’ve. There’s a lot worth caring about, when it comes to you.”

Tooru hummed and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Iwaizumi huffed. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late ;; i forgot
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time


	15. Chapter 15

Shinsuke stirred from where they’d slipped into a doze on the sofa, their book having dropped onto their chest when they finally nodded off. They sat up, wincing at the newly-formed crease in the book’s spine. They slid a bookmark in to keep their place and stood, wondering what it was that had woken them. It was late in the evening, late enough that the streets outside Shinsuke’s window were dark in between the glow of the streetlamps.

They glanced around, before a soft buzzing noise caught their attention—the intercom. Someone was trying to visit them. Shinsuke assumed that the buzzing had initially been what woke them from that dreamless doze, crossing to where the intercom was positioned near the door. 

“Hello?” they called, wondering who it would be. Outside of Oikawa and their father, only one person knew Shinsuke lived in this building. 

The intercom crackled, then a familiar voice drawled, “Are ya busy?”

“Osamu,” Shinsuke greeted. “No. C’mon up.”

It took a few minutes, but soon enough Shinsuke heard a soft knocking on their door and they pulled it open. They gazed at Osamu for half of a second before gesturing for him to come inside, abruptly realizing that this was the first time they’d seen him outside of his work clothes. Osamu removed his shoes in the entryway, standing with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. 

Shinsuke hummed softly. “Yer hair’s shorter than I remember,” they observed. “‘S hard to tell when yer always wearin’ the hat.”

Osamu chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. ‘Tsumu got his trimmed a while back and he looked better than me, so I had to go ‘n one-up him by lookin’ better than him in his own haircut.”

Shinsuke huffed an amused breath. “Yer bond is so strange.”

Osamu shrugged. “Whatever works, yeah?”

Shinsuke hummed. “Did ya need somethin’?”

Osamu hesitated before he responded, fidgeting slightly with the hem of his jacket. “I just—wanted to check on ya. Ya seemed kinda upset last I saw ya.”

“Ah,” Shinsuke said, turning away. A spike of anxiety stabbed their gut, a barely noticeable itch spreading up their arms. “Yeah. I was.”

“Can I ask why?” Osamu asked. 

Shinsuke considered their words before responding. Outside the window, it was just barely raining, a few drops sprinkling the window pane so lightly Shinsuke couldn’t even hear them. They were still scared, still afraid of how Osamu would react, what he would say, but—

They were just so  _ tired  _ of hiding. Hiding who they were, hiding what they’d gone through, hiding everything they’d done and seen and felt since the last time they properly talked to Osamu months ago. Tired of living two lives, tired of pretending to be someone they weren’t.

“I’m nonbinary,” Shinsuke declared, pretending they couldn’t hear the tremor in their voice. “I use they/them pronouns now.”

Osamu didn’t say anything for a long moment, before finally he said, “‘Kay. ‘S that all?” 

Shinsuke stiffened. They choked on their breath, their hands clenching into fists at their sides. ‘ _ Kay?  _ That was all he had to say? All he  _ cared  _ to say? 

Was it really so inconsequential? So insignificant?

So  _ easy? _

“Kita,” Osamu said, his voice gentle. “Yer still my friend, no matter what yer gender is or what yer pronouns are.”

“So ya wouldn’t care if I wore a skirt once in a while?” Shinsuke asked. “If I left my hair at this length?”

“‘Course I wouldn’t care,” Osamu dismissed. “It ain’t my body. ‘Sides, I bet ya look fantastic in a skirt.”

Shinsuke flushed. “That’s—that’s not the point.” 

“Kita,” Osamu said. “Would ya please look at me?”

Shinsuke hesitated, before turning slowly to face Osamu. Osamu grinned at them. 

“So yer nonbinary,” Osamu said. “Yer still Kita. Still my friend. Still good.”

Still good.  _ Still good.  _

“Aw,” Osamu murmured, his grin turning fond. “Don’t cry. C’mere, c’mon.” He opened his arms, pulling Shinsuke in for a hug. He cradled the back of Shinsuke’s head, just like he had the other day, smoothing Shinsuke’s hair with one hand and rubbing soft circles into Shinsuke’s back with the other. “Always such a crybaby,” he teased, voice dripping with adoration. Shinsuke sniffled their way through a laugh, lifting their arms to circle loosely around Osamu’s waist. Osamu chuckled. “Mm, yer hands are kinda low there, Kita. Tryin’ to take advantage of me?”

Shinsuke laughed, pulling away slightly. “Don’t cheapen the moment,” they admonished. “Yer not Atsumu.”

Osamu laughed. “Damn, Kita, he ain’t even here to defend himself!”

The two of them calmed down, Shinsuke wiping their eyes with the hem of their sleeves while Osamu quieted his chuckles. Osamu hummed, smiling softly. “‘S that really why ya ghosted us for months?” he asked. “Yer gender?”

“Yes,” Shinsuke said. “No.”

Osamu furrowed his brows. “Yes and no?”

Shinsuke wrapped their arms around their chest, averting their eyes. “There was more than one reason.”

Osamu paused, gazing at Shinsuke thoughtfully before he finally reached out and took one of Shinsuke’s hands in his, slowly leading Shinsuke over to the couch. The two of them sat down beside each other, Osamu seemingly holding Shinsuke’s hands to keep them from scratching nervously and hurting themself.

“What happened, Kita?” he asked. Shinsuke took a deep breath. 

“My grandmother passed away,” they murmured. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do.”

“Kita, I’m so sorry,” Osamu said honestly, his eyes sad. Shinsuke sniffled. 

“It was hard to be there,” they admitted. “Where she’d lived. Hard to exist where she always had. Hard to talk to anybody who knew me before, ‘cause it—it felt like I was someone new and everybody else was the exact same as they’d always been.”

“Yer still Kita,” Osamu repeated, echoing his own words. “Still my friend. Still good. Okay?”

Shinsuke’s face crumpled. “But I’m  _ not _ .”

“Yes, ya  _ are _ ,” Osamu insisted, squeezing Shinsuke’s hands. “Just ‘cause ya ain’t the same don’t mean yer someone new entirely,” he declared. “Yer still my friend. Still the one I’d go to for advice ‘cause I know yer always genuine ‘n honest ‘n I know ya have my back. Yer still the person I know and love. Yer just—a different version of that person now. But it doesn’t mean we love ya any less.”

Shinsuke sniffled, mortified to find tears in their eyes again. “Okay,” they breathed. “I’m sorry for leavin’ y’all.”

“‘S okay,” Osamu replied, pulling Shinsuke in for a side hug. Shinsuke laid their head on his shoulder, blinking away their gathering tears. “Yer here now. That’s enough for me.” 

Shinsuke hummed softly. “Did ya wanna watch somethin’? A movie?”

“Maybe in a little while,” Osamu replied. “I think I’d like to just sit like this for a lil’ bit, if that’s alright with ya.” 

Shinsuke smiled softly. “Okay,” they murmured. “Sounds good to me.”

Osamu, Shinsuke was beginning to realize, was always warm.

-

Iwaizumi was already awake when Tooru hobbled out of their room the next morning, standing in Tooru’s kitchen preparing what smelled like an American breakfast of some sort. Tooru leaned heavily against the table, squinting at Iwaizumi for several seconds before they decided he didn’t need any help and collapsed into a chair.

Iwaizumi glanced over his shoulder and grunted out a greeting, a mumbled good morning permeating the air. Tooru hummed in response, massaging their knee as they watched him work. 

“You’re quiet,” Iwaizumi observed, flipping a pancake. Tooru paused, frowning at him from their spot on the other side of the kitchen. 

“I am?”

Iwaizumi hummed. “You’ve been quiet for a while, if I’m being honest.”

Tooru grunted. “How long’s ‘a while?’”

Iwaizumi was quiet for a few moments, before he said, “How long were you and Ushijima dating?”

Tooru rolled their eyes. “You don’t have to tell me this, Iwa-chan. Makki already informed me that Ushijima was bad for me and I probably didn’t even really love him.”

Iwaizumi plated the pancakes, reaching to turn off the stove. “That isn’t what I was going to say.”

Tooru scoffed. “Really? Then, enlighten me—where  _ were  _ you going with that?”

Iwaizumi carried the two plates over to the table, setting one down in front of Tooru before taking a seat with his own. He paused, settling himself, before he furrowed his eyebrows and spoke. “You just—aren’t who you used to be. And I can’t tell if it’s just because we’ve been apart for so long, I’m not used to the person you are  _ without  _ me, or if it’s just—did I miss it all?”

Tooru wrinkled their nose. “Miss what?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, stuffing a bite of pancake into his mouth. He chewed slowly, methodically—the way he always used to when they were children. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “Going to school in America meant leaving all of my friends behind,” he said, his voice low. He lifted his eyes to look at Tooru, his gaze imploring. There was something sad behind the green of his eyes, a type of sadness that made Tooru’s gut twist. “Which means you all grew and changed—and I missed it.”

Tooru opened their mouth to speak, then closed it upon realizing that they didn’t actually have anything to say. As hard as it had been without Iwaizumi, they’d never really stopped to consider what it might feel like to be in Iwaizumi’s shoes. What did it feel like to chase your dreams so wholly and completely that you’re willing to follow them out of the country? Across the world? 

What did it feel like to be left with nothing but yourself, at the end of the day? No friends to call, no boyfriend to speak of, just you and your dreams and your own merit?

What did it feel like to  _ succeed?  _

Tooru took a bite of their pancake and let Iwaizumi’s words hang in the air. 

“Forget I said anything,” Iwaizumi muttered, averting his gaze.

“People change, Iwa-chan,” Tooru finally said, prompting Iwaizumi to turn a wide-eyed gaze on them. “Change is—good, isn’t it? Isn’t that what we’re meant to do?”

Iwaizumi opened and closed his mouth several times without saying anything. 

Tooru shrugged. “You’re still my best friend, even though we’re both different people now. We still grew up together. We’ve still got all the memories. You living in America doesn’t take that away.”

Iwaizumi smiled softly, chuckling. “Like the day we met,” he said. “When you were crying over that little spider.”

“It was not little!” Tooru protested. “That thing was the size of my thumbnail!”

Iwaizumi leveled them with an unimpressed look. Tooru huffed, pouting as they took another bite of pancake. Iwaizumi laughed after a moment, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “Do you remember Makki’s last party of our third year?”

Tooru sniffed. “How could I forget? Makki and Mattsun traumatized poor Kindaichi with their lewd behavior.” They shuddered. “I think they traumatized me, too.”

Iwaizumi snorted. He sat back, a fond smile on his face. “Y’know—I almost kissed you at that party.”

Tooru stiffened. “You—what?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I thought I’d forget it the next morning, ‘cause those two pumped us all so full of booze it was unreal, but—I still remember it like it was yesterday.”

Tooru swallowed thickly, their tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper. 

“It was—late,” Iwaizumi started, that small smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We were standing on the back porch, and it was kind of cold and you leaned into me to stick your hands in the pockets of my jacket.”

“You called me stupid,” Tooru added, their voice scarcely a whisper, “for not wearing a coat.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “But—the music was playing real softly from inside the house, and our breath was coming out in clouds in front of our faces and I looked at you, with the stars reflected in your eyes and the moon lighting your face and—I dunno. All I could think was that I never wanted to stop seeing you like that.”

“Like what?” Tooru asked. 

“Like I could kiss you,” Iwaizumi replied simply. 

The two of them were impossibly silent for several minutes. Tooru wondered if Iwaizumi could hear their heart beating as it thundered in their chest. They wondered how red their face was.

“Why didn’t you?” they asked before they could stop themself.

Iwaizumi shrugged. “Somebody came outside. Moment was gone. And then, even though I knew that I was probably a little in love with you, we were graduating and I was going to America and before I knew it, you had another boyfriend. I figured I missed my window.”

“Windows can open,” Tooru breathed. Iwaizumi shot them a funny look.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” Tooru blurted. “I—I have to go see a friend later, so I think you should maybe go visit Makki. He doesn’t do anything these days.” 

Iwaizumi snickered. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” 

“Right,” Tooru drawled, rolling their eyes. “How could I forget? He’s ‘between jobs.’”

Iwaizumi laughed and stood, taking the dirty dishes over to the sink to wash them off before leaving them out on the counter to dry. Tooru watched him work, their mind reeling. He walked by on his way toward the door, patting Tooru once on the shoulder as a form of goodbye.

As the door clicked shut behind Iwaizumi, Tooru pitched forward and slammed their forehead against the tabletop. “Iwa-chan almost kissed me,” they murmured. “Iwa-chan was in love with me.” Their heart fluttered in their chest against their will. 

Iwaizumi was in love with them. 

Keyword:  _ was.  _ Meaning:  _ not anymore.  _

How was that fair?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will not forget this week i will not forget this week i will not forget this week i will not forget this week i will not fo-
> 
> its weird to think that like. i'm almost done posting this :,)
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time


	16. Chapter 16

Shinsuke woke up in Osamu’s arms on the couch the next morning, their chests pressed flush against each other. They blinked the sleep out of their eyes, slowly peeling Osamu’s arms off of their waist to stand up and stretch. Osamu snuffled and turned over, unbothered by the sudden lack of a cuddle buddy. Shinsuke gazed down at him for a moment, a fond smile playing on their face, before they walked to their bedroom to get dressed and ready for the day. 

Shinsuke was pulling on their socks when there was a knock on the door, making them frown. The knocking was repeated, insistent—whoever was on the other side wasn’t going to wait or go away. Sighing, Shinsuke walked back out to the main room, only to see that Osamu was awake and had answered the door for them. 

“Is Shin-chan here?” a familiar voice asked, with a note of urgency lacing their words. 

Osamu tilted his head to the side “Shin-chan?”

Oikawa huffed. “Kita Shinsuke.”

Osamu shrugged, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder and see that Shinsuke had returned to the main room. “Ya, why?” 

“I need to talk to them,” Oikawa insisted.

Osamu squinted. “So early?”

Oikawa faltered. “It’s—it’s almost noon.” 

“Huh,” Osamu said, pulling out his phone to look at the time. “Oh, shit, it is.” He turned around, finding Shinsuke watching the exchange with an amused grin on their face. He smiled, and said, “Ya’ve got a visitor.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Shinsuke replied. 

Osamu stepped back. “I gotta get home ‘n then go open the shop,” he said, reaching out to awkwardly pat Shinsuke’s shoulder. Shinsuke rolled their eyes and pulled him in for a quick side-hug, eliciting a pleased noise from the man. When the two of them pulled away, Osamu placed his hand on Shinsuke’s head and said, “See ya soon, Kita.”

“See ya soon,” Shinsuke parroted, watching him go. Oikawa limped into the apartment after Osamu walked out, closing the door behind themself. Shinsuke sat down on the couch, patting the space next to them invitingly. Oikawa flopped down on the sofa, resting their head in Shinsuke’s lap. Shinsuke began to card their fingers through the other’s hair, waiting for Oikawa to find the words to begin speaking. 

“Okay, first of all,” Oikawa started. “Is that your boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend now? Did you go and get a boyfriend and think you could get away with not telling me?”

Shinsuke chuckled. “I wasn’t aware we were still friends.”

Oikawa winced. “Ah, right, the  _ real  _ ‘first things first.’” They paused, covering their face with their hands before saying, “Look, I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t fair to you. I shouldn’t—I dunno. It’s hard for me to admit—”

“That some of this is yer fault?” Shinsuke asked. Oikawa nodded, pressing their lips into a thin line. “‘S okay. Self-awareness doesn’t come easily.”

“Are you sure?” Oikawa asked. Shinsuke paused before they responded, taking a moment to examine Oikawa’s facial expression. They could tell that Oikawa really  _ was  _ sorry, just from the swirl of regret and sadness in their eyes. A part of them was still a little upset—likely the bruised cheek that still stung—but a much bigger part simply missed their friend. 

Finally, Shinsuke nodded. “I’m not one to hold a grudge.”

Oikawa let out a relieved breath, a bright smile spreading across their face. “Good. I missed you, Shin-chan.”

Shinsuke chuckled. “I missed ya, too, Oikawa.” They hummed softly, brushing a lock of hair out of Oikawa’s eyes. “Is there a reason ya had to come over ‘n see me? Other than apologizin’?”

Oikawa flushed suddenly. “Shin-chan,” they whine. “Iwa-chan came home! He’s staying with me!”

Shinsuke furrowed their eyebrows. “And that’s bad?”

“Of course it’s bad!” Oikawa laments. “He told me he was in love with me! That he almost kissed me!” 

“Ah,” Shinsuke replied. “So, it’s bad.”

Oikawa whined, long and loud. 

Shinsuke hummed, smiling softly. “You loved him too, yeah?” Oikawa nodded, turning to hide their face in Shinsuke’s midsection. Shinsuke laughed quietly at their antics. “Then, why’s this such a problem?”

“‘Cause Iwa-chan doesn’t love me anymore,” Oikawa replied, their voice muffled by the fabric of Shinsuke’s sweater. “He said we missed our window.”

“Do ya still love him?” Shinsuke asked. Oikawa whined, which Shinsuke took to mean yes. “Even after all the Ushijima drama?”

“ _ Especially  _ after all the Ushijima drama,” Oikawa mumbled. When Shinsuke didn’t immediately reply, Oikawa rolled over to face the ceiling, sighing heavily. “Ushijima didn’t care about me like Iwa-chan does.  _ Nobody  _ cares about me like Iwa-chan. He’s stuck by my side all my life, even though I can be insufferably annoying to put up with sometimes. How am I supposed to  _ not  _ love that?”

Shinsuke smiled again. “And yer sure he doesn’t love ya anymore? Or did ya just assume he’s moved on?” 

Oikawa opened their mouth to retort, then faltered. 

Shinsuke hummed. “That’s what I thought.”

“Shin-chan,” Oikawa whined. “What do I do?”

“For starters,” Shinsuke declared, “You  _ get rid of those sheets.  _ There’s no reason for ya to keep holdin’ onto them, after everythin’ that’s happened.”

“I know, I know,” Oikawa said, finally sitting up. They leaned their head on Shinsuke’s shoulder, sighing. After a few moments passed in silence, Oikawa reached up and poked Shinsuke’s cheek, grinning. “So, who’s the guy?”

Shinsuke rolled their eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what yer thinkin’.”

Oikawa’s grin widened. “But you want him to be?”

Shinsuke flushed. “‘Course I don’t. Osamu’s just a friend.”

“Mhm,” Oikawa hummed. “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” Shinsuke insisted. 

“You know who I used to think was just a friend?” Oikawa asked. 

Shinsuke frowned. “Who?”

Oikawa poked them again. “Iwa-chan.”

Shinsuke rolled their eyes. “That’s different.”

Oikawa hummed. “How so? Enlighten me, Shin-chan.”

Shinsuke huffed. “‘Cause yer actually in love with Iwaizumi. I don’t love Osamu ‘n he doesn’t love me.”

Oikawa grinned. “Okay,” they said. “Whatever you say, Shin-chan.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” Shinsuke repeated. Oikawa chuckled softly, turning their gaze toward the ceiling. The two of them lapsed into silence for several moments, the only sound being the hum of appliances all around them, and the ambient noises of traffic outside the window on the street below. 

“I missed you,” Oikawa said softly, sounding like they didn’t really want to admit it.

Shinsuke gazed down at them, taking in their features. There was a certain look in their gaze Shinsuke didn’t entirely recognize—it almost looked like guilt. Regret, maybe. But no matter how hurt they had been by Oikawa’s words, they did mean what they said when they forgave Oikawa. 

Because they had missed Oikawa, too. 

“I missed you, too,” Shinsuke breathed. Oikawa hummed a happy note. 

“Should we go get some sheets?” they suggested, moving to sit up. 

Shinsuke placed an arm around Oikawa to keep them sitting with their head on Shinsuke’s shoulder, pressing their lips into a thin line. “Not yet,” they said. 

Oikawa blinked. They didn’t say anything for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of seconds. Then: “Okay. Not yet.”

-

The department store down the street from their apartment complex smelled too strongly of cleaning solution. Tooru wrinkled their nose as Kita headed toward the sheets section, expertly weaving through the crowds of people and sneaking around the backs of other aisles to reach their destination. 

When they finally reached the sheets, located at the back of the store, Kita turned to look at Tooru expectantly, their gaze flickering between the wall of sheet sets and Tooru’s face. 

Tooru scanned the wall. There were sheets of every fabric type, sheets of every color. They spotted patterned ones, flannel ones, plain ones, expensive ones with insanely high thread counts. Directly in front of them, sitting at eye level, were the sheets Ushijima had bought all those months ago, the ones that ripped. Tooru was tempted to grab those, but they knew Kita would be disappointed if they ever found out. 

But there were far too many options. How were they supposed to choose one, when the one they really wanted was the only one they shouldn’t buy? How were they supposed to know which sheets would look best on their bed while still being the best to fall asleep on? How were they supposed to know if it was worth splurging on a higher thread count on the off-chance they might sleep a little better? How were they supposed to know what to  _ do? _

“The highest thread count ain’t all that great,” Kita says suddenly. Tooru whips around to look at them, wide-eyed. Had they read Tooru’s mind? Tooru wouldn’t be entirely surprised to find out telepathy was something Kita was capable of. “It ain’t worth the price it’s posted at.” 

Tooru opened and closed their mouth several times like a fish out of water, unsure of what to say. 

Kita hummed softly. “Patterned sheets tend to be a weaker material than plain colors, and a lower thread count, so they won’t last as long nor will they be as comfortable.”

“Okay,” Tooru breathed. They reached forward and pointed to a white sheet set. “These?”

Kita examined it, before their eyes began to scan the shelves surrounding. They pointed to a sheet set three shelves above the one Tooru had picked out, and said, “Those would be better.”

Tooru looked between the two sheet sets, but they didn’t see much of a difference, aside from the fact that the ones Kita picked had a higher thread count. Shrugging, they reached up and took down the appropriate sheet set, turning to Kita. “Okay,” they said. “Let’s go.”

Kita nodded and took over leading the two of them toward the check-out lines, once again weaving deftly through all of the other patrons and employees. By the time they exited the store again, the streets were clogged with the afternoon crowd of shoppers and workers and people rushing to find something for lunch, people rushing to appointments, people  _ rushing.  _

Kita tucked their hands into the pockets of their coat and declared, “I think we should burn yer old sheets.”

“I think that sounds like a safety hazard,” Tooru replied, frowning. 

“Well, are ya actually gonna throw them away?” Kita challenged. “Or are ya just gonna tell me ya did to satisfy me but actually hold onto Ushijima for the rest of yer life?”

Tooru’s mouth went dry. They averted their eyes, huffing slightly. 

“Then I’ll throw them away myself,” Kita said simply. “There’s no point in holding onto someone who never even loved you like you loved them, Oikawa.”

“I know that,” Tooru snapped. 

“Do ya?” Kita asked, their voice airy. The two of them paused their conversation to cross to the other side of the road, before they continued on their way back to the apartment complex.

Tooru sighed, not feeling particularly in the mood to further the argument. Kita was probably right, anyway; Tooru wasn’t very good at taking care of their mental health. Clinging onto the ex who dumped them, ruined them, and never even loved them was exactly the type of thing Tooru would do. 

“How do you know so much about sheets, anyway?” Tooru asked, as a cloud passed over the sun and the street was cast into shadowed darkness, darker than any afternoon had a right to be. 

Kita hummed softly. A strange look passed over their face, a look that wasn’t quite sad, but it was definitely not Kita’s muted smile they usually wore. “My grandma,” they said. “She taught me everythin’ I’d ever need to know ‘bout livin’ on my own.”

Tooru licked their lips. “Oh.”

Kita smiled then, but it still didn’t seem quite right. It seemed like there was a piece missing from it, that heavy sadness still weighing down their normally light eyes. “I wasn’t even on my own yet when she told me,” they continued. “She just wanted to make sure I’d always be okay.”

“She sounds nice,” Tooru breathed. Kita hummed, nodding. 

“She was the best,” they replied. “I was closer to her than the father I lived with. Ain’t that funny?”

Tooru paused. They weren’t entirely sure how to respond to this conversation; they’d never lost someone like this. They’d never experienced the likely guttural pain and grief Kita was living with on a day-to-day basis, and they knew that anything they  _ did  _ or could say just—wouldn’t be good enough.

Kita’s smile tightened at the corners, shrinking a little more with each passing second. Tooru glanced around, and saw that they were nearing the apartment complex. 

“I miss her,” Kita confessed. 

“I know,” Tooru murmured. 

Kita turned to them, their eyes imploring. “How do I stop missing her?” 

Tooru faltered, opening and closing their mouth several times in rapid succession before finally they sighed and tipped their head back toward the sky, watching the grey clouds pass by overhead. “I don’t know, Shin-chan,” they said. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just love her and you miss her and maybe you never stop missing her but maybe eventually it gets—easier. Maybe one day you wake up and it isn’t the kind of miss that makes you want to rip your own heart out. Maybe it’s the kind of miss that makes you want to eat her favorite ice cream and watch her favorite movies and think about how much you loved her, how much she loved you.” They frowned, pausing. “Maybe it’s the kind of pain that never really gets better, but—you learn to live with it.”

At Kita’s prolonged silence, Tooru lowered their head only to see Kita staring at them with wide eyes. Tooru shifted. “What? It’s rude to stare, you know.” 

Kita blinked and shook their head to escape their stupor. “Sorry,” they blurted. “‘S just—I didn’t expect that.”

Tooru raised an eyebrow. 

Kita shrugged. “Ya don’t seem like the type to be in touch with yer emotions,” they explained. “No offense.”

“No offense, you say, saying something offensive,” Tooru drawled. They waved a hand. “In any case—you aren’t wrong. I don’t like my emotions and I don’t like being vulnerable but I think that maybe I get what you’re going through.” 

Kita waited. 

Tooru pressed their lips into a thin line. “I’ve never lost a family member. I’ve never—I’ve never felt that kind of pain. Knock on wood.” They paused, glancing both ways before they led Kita across the street toward their apartment complex. “But when Ushijima left me I just—I don’t know. I missed him so fucking much it made me want to die.”

Kita was quiet for a moment. “What did ya do ‘bout it?”

Tooru sighed. “I woke up. I woke up, and I went about my day, and I didn’t think about him and it didn’t hurt like I assumed it would. It just felt like—it felt  _ normal.  _ I still missed him, of course, I still looked at his ugly button downs hanging in the closet and wished I could just turn one of them into a brand new Ushijima, but—”

“You woke up,” Kita repeated. Tooru hummed and nodded, pulling out their key to let the two of them into the apartment. 

“I still miss him sometimes,” Tooru confessed.

“I know,” Kita replied. “I still miss my grandma.”

“Yeah,” Tooru said. “I know.”

A quiet understanding seemed to pass between the two of them, as they headed for the staircase. They understood each other’s pain, understood what it felt like to be dragged beneath the waves of grief, drowning for months and weeks and days, only to finally wake up on dry land, being poked and prodded by the push and pull of the tide with nothing to do but get up and be alive. They knew what it felt like to surrender to grief, to finally give in and let the ocean drown them, only for the fickle sea to spit them out and force them to keep living. 

Perhaps that was why they worked so well. They weren’t similar in the slightest, in fact their personalities couldn’t possibly be more different, and somehow they were best friends. Maybe it was because of how well they understood each other. Maybe it was because they had both gone through something terrible and come out the other side alone, even if it was an isolation of their own making. Maybe it was because loss brought Kita to the city where loss left Tooru trapped, maybe it was because in losing something great, they not only found each other—

They found themselves, too. 

Maybe growing together was what turned them into friends. Maybe Tooru didn’t care why they became friends—they just cared that they  _ were.  _

“Come on,” Kita said suddenly, drawing Tooru out of their thoughts. “I’ll make us lunch before we change you sheets.” 

“Cool,” Tooru replied, following Kita into their apartment. “I love free food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the moment u have all been waiting for!!!!
> 
> theyre all gay and i love them 
> 
> be gay do crime see u next time!


	17. Chapter 17

Spring was finally invading the city, bringing with it bright sunlight and warm breezes in addition to the melting snow turning to sludge and the daily rainstorms. Shinsuke carried their umbrella everywhere they went these days, constantly afraid they’d get caught in the rain. 

But there wasn’t a cloud in sight today, the sky a clear blue with the sun beating down on the pavement like a beam of heat. The air was still cold for the most part, the last few dregs of winter refusing to leave the atmosphere, but Shinsuke didn’t really mind; the warmth of the sun balanced out the chill of the wind. 

The bell above the door rang softly as Shinsuke stepped into Onigiri Miya, smiling at Osamu behind the counter. Osamu looked up and grinned, waving in greeting. Shinsuke took a seat once they reached the counter, setting their bag on the floor next to the stool. 

“I have a paper to finish,” they said, “but I thought I could give ya some company.”

Osamu hummed. “I dunno,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the empty restaurant. “I’m kinda in a rush.”

Shinsuke rolled their eyes, pulling out their laptop. Osamu returned to what he’d been doing before—counting the drawer in the register—as Shinsuke started to reread their essay, reminding themself on where they’d left off so that they could write more coherently. The two of them lapsed into silence, the only sounds being the ambient noises of the room; the clicking of Shinsuke’s keyboard, the shuffle of bills as Osamu thumbed through them to count, the quiet humming of the radio, the buzzing of the kitchen appliances behind the counter. There was a certain atmosphere hovering between the two of them, a kind of air that distracted Shinsuke from their essay for just long enough to notice the scent of onigiri lingering in the air, the way the light reflected off of the curve of Osamu’s jaw, the way the brim of his hat shadowed his perpetually-sleepy eyes. Osamu noticed Shinsuke’s gaze on him and looked up, offering Shinsuke a sleepy, lazy smile. Shinsuke smiled back, returning their eyes to the essay in front of them. 

Something about Onigiri Miya made them think about home, in a way they hadn’t considered since moving to the city. Onigiri Miya made them wonder about the  _ concept  _ of home, made them wonder where they would consider themself to be at home. Was it back in their hometown, the town they had fled and never looked back on? The place they grew up, the place where they went to high school and played volleyball with all of their friends, the place where they got ice cream and went to the park and learned about all of the ins and outs of independent life from their grandmother? 

Was it here, in the city? Was it where they’d met Oikawa, their best friend? Was it where they finally had enough time to stop and think and realize who they really were, their true identity in all of its nonbinary glory? Was it where Shinsuke recovered from loss standing at someone else’s side? Was it where they reconnected with Osamu, was it where they worked and went to visit Onigiri Miya whenever they had a chance?

Or maybe Shinsuke’s home wasn’t a place at all. 

“Yanno,” Osamu started, drawing Shinsuke out of their thoughts. “It’s kinda weird that we both ended up here, ain’t it?”

“How so?” Shinsuke asked. 

Osamu paused. “I coulda picked any city to start the business in. Ya coulda picked any city to move to. We coulda—we coulda gone anywhere in all of Japan, and somehow we both ended up picking this city in this neighborhood.”

Shinsuke hummed, nodding. “It’s almost like this was meant to be.”

Osamu grinned. “Sap,” he accused. He furrowed his brow, leaning forward on the counter as he got caught up in thought again. “I dunno. I know we weren’t friends when we first found each other, but I’m real glad that yer here, Kita.”

Shinsuke blinked. They didn’t know what to say to that.

Lucky for them, Osamu wasn’t quite finished. “I mean—I’d never been out on my own without ‘Tsumu before, ‘n I didn’t know anybody here. ‘N then, not even a month after openin’, ya walked into my store and I’ve just—I dunno. You make the homesick go away.”

_ You make the homesick go away.  _

Abruptly, Shinsuke realized that the same was true for Osamu. They hadn’t missed home at all since meeting up with him again, hadn’t even thought about everything they’d left behind because Osamu was—he was  _ right here,  _ and he  _ was  _ their home _.  _

But—how can Osamu make Shinsuke feel like they’re home? How can a person possibly make all of Shinsuke’s pain and heartache and longing for their hometown just disappear? How can a person possibly—

Shinsuke looked at Osamu, at his sleepy eyes and his lazy smile and the shadows beneath the brim of his hat, at the tufts of fluffy hair sticking out from underneath the hat and behind his ears, at the way Osamu looked at Shinsuke like Osamu had been at war for months and looking at Shinsuke finally brought him  _ home.  _

Unbidden, Shinsuke remembered moments with Osamu from the distant past, moments in volleyball practice working together on receives and serves and spikes, moments spent cleaning the gym after hours, moments spent snickering to each other in the locker room over jokes at Atsumu’s expense. They remembered walking home together when Aran and Atsumu were caught up in conversation, remembered Osamu giving them small bentos full of foods he wanted Shinsuke to sample for him. 

Moments in which all that mattered was Osamu, Osamu looking at them and Osamu laughing with them and Osamu touching them and Osamu loving them the same way Shinsuke loved him. 

It was so painfully obvious, looking back. Clear as day, written across every interaction Shinsuke had ever had with Osamu. They were in love. Maybe the love was new, maybe they’d always been in love with him. Either way, they knew for sure that they were in love with him when Osamu handed them a glass of water and reminded them not to work too hard, they were in love with him when he slipped into the back room to change the playlist to something slower, something more mellow, because he knew that Shinsuke liked their music to be quieter. They knew they were in love when Osamu looked at them with that crooked grin and those sleepy eyes, when Osamu checked his phone and made a derogatory remark about Atsumu’s latest Twitter post, when Osamu glanced up to see if Shinsuke thought the comment was funny. They knew they were in love when the two of them sat in comfortable silence, they knew they were in love when Osamu asked Shinsuke to text him when they got home.

Love had seeped into everything they’d ever done, every glance they sent Osamu’s way and every glance he sent back, every brush of their hands, their sides, their arms. 

It felt like a thousand years had passed since Osamu spoke, and somehow no time at all. Shinsuke knew that in books, in movies, in plays, in every written art form—falling in love was frightening. It was a terrifying concept, the wholeness of love. Giving yourself over entirely to someone else, trusting someone else to hold your heart and not hurt it. That was supposed to be the scariest thing a person could do. 

And somehow, gazing up at Osamu from behind their laptop screen as he polished the register, humming a soft tune under his breath, all Shinsuke felt was calm. Loving Osamu wasn’t scary. Loving Osamu was as natural as breathing. 

Shinsuke glanced down at their essay. They could finish it later, they supposed. “Osamu,” they started. He hummed in lieu of a response. “How much longer ‘til ya close?”

Osamu paused. “Thirty minutes. Twenty if I rush.”

Shinsuke hesitated for less than a second. “Wanna grab coffee?”

Osamu grinned, and Shinsuke knew for sure right then—they were truly, deeply, wholly in love. “I’d love to.”

-

“I am in love,” Kita declared as soon as Tooru opened the door. 

Tooru blinked. “Hello to you, too.”

Kita frowned. “I just assumed ya’d wanna skip the pleasantries ‘n get right to the gossip.”

Tooru squinted down at them for several seconds before stepping back to make room for Kita to enter their apartment. “Yeah, you’re right. Tell me everything.”

Kita sat down on the couch, their hands folded neatly in their lap. They gazed around Tooru’s apartment, despite having seen it a hundred times before. Tooru took a seat next to them, waiting for Kita to speak. 

“I am in love,” Kita said again. 

“Okay,” Tooru said slowly. “Are we happy about this or are we moving to the Himalayas?”

Kita smiled, exhaling a breath. Their fingers unfolded from their lap, reaching up to tangle in the folds of their oversized sweater. “Happy,” they said. 

Tooru hummed. “Who is it? How’d you realize?”

“Osamu,” Kita confessed. Their smile softened. “I realized it in his restaurant. I was workin’ on a paper ‘n he was doin’ the closin’ routine ‘n he said that I make his homesickness go away ‘n then I realized that I’m really, really, in love with him.”

“That’s so cute, what the fuck,” Tooru exclaimed. “What’d you do next?”

“We got coffee and made fun of his brother’s social media,” Kita told them. “He wants to get coffee again tomorrow mornin’.”

“Are you gonna tell him?” Tooru asked. 

Kita turned to look at them. “Should I?”

Tooru paused. “You said he told you that you make his homesickness go away?” 

Kita nodded. 

“Yeah, you should tell him.”

“Okay,” Kita said, nodding. “What about Iwaizumi? Are ya gonna tell _him_?”

Tooru shrugged, dropping their head onto Kita’s shoulder. “Nothing to tell.”

Kita flicked the top of Tooru’s head. “Yer still in love with him. That’s somethin’.”

“But he doesn’t love me,” Tooru protested. 

“Assumptions make an ass outta you ‘n me,” Kita quoted. 

Tooru huffed. 

Kita was quiet for several moments, before they asked, “Why are ya really tryin’ to play this off?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tooru lied. 

Kita flicked them again. “Ya can tell me,” they murmured. “I won’t tell no one.”

Tooru pressed their lips into a thin line. They knew they could trust Kita; Kita had been there for them through the good, the bad, and the ugly—there was no reason they’d leave Tooru now. But Tooru’s insecurity complex didn’t care to acknowledge the logical side of things, was simply afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt because of it.

“Iwa-chan lives in America,” Tooru finally said. “So there’s no point in confessing when I’ll only have him to myself for another few days.”

“For now,” Kita corrected. Tooru frowned.

“What?”

“He lives in America  _ for now,”  _ Kita elaborated. “Has he ever indicated that he wants to stay there?”

Tooru shook their head. 

“Then ya shouldn’t assume he’ll go to America and never come back,” Kita said. “Besides—ya’ve been friends for, what? A decade?”

“Give or take,” Tooru mumbled. 

“Then there’s no reason to think that the two of ya can’t handle long distance as a couple when ya’ve already been doin’ it as friends.”

Tooru pressed their lips into a thin line. “And—what if I tell him and he hates me? What if he stops being my friend?”

“He won’t,” Kita replied. “And if he does, I’ll punch him.”

Tooru snorted. The two of them fell into silence for a few minutes, until Tooru started, “We’re a real pair, aren’t we? In love with our best friends at the exact same time.”

“Sad Breakfast Club strikes again,” Kita said, nodding sagely. Tooru snickered.

“Hey, Shin-chan?” Tooru asked. Kita hummed. “Thanks for being my friend. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Kita smiled softly. “I love you too, Oikawa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the homstretch folks...
> 
> (sorry this is late time is fake)


	18. Chapter 18

The cafe smelled so strongly of coffee, the bitter scent tickled Shinsuke’s nose even standing outside as they waited for Osamu to arrive. The two of them had agreed to meet here before trekking to the park, where Shinsuke had every intention of finally confessing their feelings to him. A small part of them was afraid he’d reject it, but a much larger part just knew that it wasn’t good to keep their emotions all bottled up. They’d learned that the hard way.

A cool breeze blew through the street, ruffling Shinsuke’s hair and catching the tails of their scarf. Shinsuke hummed softly, tucking their scarf into their coat. It was another beautiful day—not a cloud in sight, the sky the brightest blue Shinsuke could ever imagine. Still cold, winter still clinging on despite all of the snow having melted, but Shinsuke never minded the cold very much. 

“Mornin’,” Osamu greeted, drawing Shinsuke out of their thoughts. Shinsuke smiled up at him, as he jokingly tipped the brim of his hat toward Shinsuke. 

“Mornin’,” Shinsuke parrotted. “Ready to go in?” 

Osamu hummed and nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Shinsuke held the door for him before following him inside, both of them heading toward the check-out line. 

“Alright,” Osamu started. “Let’s see if I still know ya like the back of my hand. I’m gonna guess what yer orderin’.”

Shinsuke raised an eyebrow, stifling a grin. “Shoot.” 

Osamu stroked his chin, squinting up at the menu. Someone ahead of them in line finished, the line moving up a spot. Shinsuke shuffled forward, just as Osamu turned to them and said, “Ya don’t like coffee, as far as I know, ‘n yer stingy ‘bout yer tea—”

“I’m not stingy,” Shinsuke started. 

“I know, I know,” Osamu interrupted, waving his hands in surrender. “Ya just like it to be made a certain way.” 

Shinsuke fell silent. Osamu chuckled. 

“Well, if ya don’t like coffee ‘n ya don’t like tea, then that leaves me with only a couple of options,” Osamu continued. Shinsuke gazed up at him curiously, wondering if he would actually guess right.  _ Did  _ he know Shinsuke well enough to guess? “But yer not one to get the frivolous, fancy frappucinos ‘n shit—nah, that’s ‘Tsumu. Which means yer gettin’ hot chocolate.” Osamu turned to look at them, grinning. “Well? Am I right?”

Shinsuke nodded. Osamu smirked. 

“Whaddya think  _ I’m  _ gonna get?” he drawled. 

“Same thing ya get everywhere ya go,” Shinsuke replied. They were nearing the front of the line now. “Coffee with cream, a shot of vanilla, and 2 shots of caramel. ‘Cause it tastes like yer favorite puddin’ flavor.” 

Osamu blinked, his eyes wide, before the shock subsided and he laughed. “Dunno why I thought ya’d ever forget a detail,” he drawled. “Yer practically omniscient, yanno.” 

Shinsuke hummed. “Yeah. I know.” 

Osamu laughed again, shoving them lightly as Shinsuke stepped up to the counter to order. Hot chocolate, just like Osamu predicted. Osamu ordered his pudding coffee, as Shinsuke knew he would, then the two of them crossed over to wait for their drinks at the other end of the counter. standing against the wall, Osamu tipped his head back to the ceiling, studying the grooves in the ceiling tiles. Shinsuke watched the other patrons in the coffee shop. There weren’t very many, most of them working in solitude, but there was a young couple giggling and whispering to each other near the window. 

“‘S there somethin’ ya wanna tell me, or somethin’?” Osamu asked suddenly. 

Shinsuke stiffened slightly. “Why d’ya ask?”

“‘Cause,” Osamu replied flippantly. “Whenever ya had somethin’ important to say back home, ya’d take me to the park to say it.”

Shinsuke flushed. They hadn’t realized Osamu knew them quite so well. They opened their mouth to speak, but at that moment, the barista called out theirs and Osamu’s orders. Osamu moved to the counter to retrieve them, nodding for Shinsuke to follow him out of the shop. Once they were outside, Osamu handed Shinsuke their drink, though not without stealing a sip first. 

“Kinda watery,” he said. “Bet I could make a better one.”

Shinsuke sipped their drink, swallowing thickly. “I’m sure ya could,” they said. “But this will do for now.”

The two of them lapsed into silence as they drew closer to the park. Osamu gazed up at the sky; clouds had rolled in while they were in the coffee shop, and Osamu’s eyes were fixed on the fluffy white shapes overhead while Shinsuke watched the road for the both of them. 

“Hey,” Osamu said suddenly. “That one looks like a volleyball.”

Shinsuke didn’t even bother looking up. “I don’t feel a need to look at a cloud in the shape of a circle, Osamu.”

Osamu huffed a breathy laugh. He sipped his coffee, making a pleased noise. “That’s fair.” A strange look passed over his face, a certain mischievous glint in his eyes that Shinsuke definitely recognized. “That one looks like a fox.”

Shinsuke hummed. “Does it really, or are ya just tryin’ to make me look like a fool?”

“I would never,” Osamu said, mock-offended. Shinsuke rolled their eyes. A few seconds passed before Osamu said, “Hey, that one looks like you.”

Without thinking, Shinsuke glanced up, only to see that the clouds had passed and there wasn’t even anything  _ to  _ look at. They frowned, turning their gaze back down as Osamu guffawed. 

“Made ya look,” Osamu teased. “I knew I could.”

“Yer insufferable,” Shinsuke said.

Osamu took another sip of his drink. “Maybe. But ya love me anyway.”

Shinsuke hoped the flush they could feel in their cheeks wasn’t visible. The two of them were silent until they reached the park, making their way over to a vacant bench opposite the entrance. The park was rather quiet for a weekend morning, only a few joggers and dog walkers out on the footpath.

“D’ya remember,” Osamu said suddenly, breaking the fragile silence that had settled between the two of them, “the last time we went to a park in high school? When ya were ‘bout to graduate ‘n I’d just gotten into a fist fight with ‘Tsumu ‘bout the future?”

“‘Course I remember,” Shinsuke murmured. Shinsuke had gotten a text from Osamu asking for company late into the evening, late enough that Shinsuke’s father was sleeping soundly in his bedroom instead of in front of the TV. Shinsuke had agreed to meet Osamu at the park, and the two of them had sat there on the swings until sunrise, talking about everything and nothing and anything in between. Osamu talked about becoming a chef. Shinsuke talked about finding a simple life to lead. Osamu talked about leaving his brother. Shinsuke talked about leaving their father. They talked about leaving, about going halfway across the world, but for some reason—the two of them were always together in their visions of the future. 

Looking back, Shinsuke thinks they might’ve fallen a little in love with Osamu on that night.

Shinsuke took a sip of their hot chocolate. It was getting cold, closer to lukewarm than it was to truly hot anymore. “I’m in love with you,” they said, as casually as one would discuss the weather. 

Next to them, Osamu choked on his coffee, spluttering and wheezing. He pounded his chest with a fist, setting his cup down on the bench beside his legs as he whipped around to face them. “You’re  _ what?”  _

“In love with you,” Shinsuke repeated. They didn’t say anything else, just picked at the cardboard sleeve around their coffee cup and waited for Osamu to speak. 

At first, Osamu didn’t say anything at all, just sat and stared blankly for so long, Shinsuke might’ve thought he’d died were it not for the color in his cheeks. 

“Yer in love with me,” he finally echoed. “Love. Like—real love? Like Han and Leia from  _ Star Wars? _ ” 

Shinsuke nodded. 

“Usagi and Mamoru of the Moon Kingdom in  _ Sailor Moon _ ?” 

Nod. 

“Shrek and Fiona?” 

Shinsuke snorted, nodding. 

“Romeo and Juliet?”

“Perhaps without all of the tragedy and death,” Shinsuke mused. “But yes. I love you like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Holy fuck,” Osamu breathed, sitting back against the backrest of the bench. Shinsuke paused, opening their mouth to speak before they closed it again. 

“It’s alright if ya don’t feel the same,” Shinsuke started.

“Shut the fuck up,” Osamu huffed. “I’ve been in love with ya since fuckin’ high school.” 

Shinsuke blinked. 

“Sorry,” Osamu said a few moments later. “That was aggressive.”

Shinsuke snorted. “May I hold your hand?”

Osamu nodded. Shinsuke hummed softly, reaching out to take Osamu’s hand in theirs. They tangled their fingers together, squeezing softly, before they turned their gaze out to face the rest of the park. One of the joggers had left since Shinsuke last looked, but a young couple with a baby stroller had arrived to take their place.

“Yer in love with me,” Osamu murmured, still sounding like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it. 

Shinsuke hummed softly. “Are ya ever gonna get used to it?” Osamu shook his head. Shinsuke smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “That’s okay,” they breathed. “‘Cause I ain’t ever gonna stop.” 

Osamu let out a high-pitched whine, turning to bury his face in Shinsuke’s hair. Shinsuke just sipped their hot chocolate, watching a pair of birds take flight from a tree on the other side of the park.

“Yer hair smells nice,” Osamu mumbled after a few minutes. “Vanilla?”

“With honey,” Shinsuke replied. 

Osamu squeezed Shinsuke’s hand. “I like it. I like  _ you.” _

“Well,” Shinsuke started, “I would hope ya like me, given that ya just told me ya loved me.” 

Osamu poked their side. “Shut up. Yer insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Shinsuke hummed. “But ya love me anyway.”

Osamu just whined. 

-

Halfway through dinner on Iwaizumi’s last night in Japan, Tooru lowered their chopsticks and asked, “Do you believe in second chances, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi paused, a bite of food raised halfway to his mouth, before he slowly lowered his own chopsticks and said, “Where’s this coming from?”

Tooru rested their chin on their fist, gazing out the window. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

“No,” Iwaizumi replied. “I don’t.”

Tooru frowned. “I don’t think I do, either.”

Iwaizumi grunted. “Then why the hell did you ask?”

Tooru shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest. Maybe I just wanted to see if you could convince me.” 

Iwaizumi stared, before he scoffed and rolled his eyes. He took another bite of food, muttering, “You’re so fucking weird.”

“If you had a soulmate,” Tooru continued, ignoring Iwaizumi’s last comment, “who do you think it would be?” 

Iwaizumi nearly choked on his food. “The fuck? I don’t know, Shittykawa!”

Tooru snickered. “Iwa-chan got defensive,” they teased. “Which means Iwa-chan knows, and Iwa-chan just doesn’t want to tell me.”

“Literally why wouldn’t I tell you,” Iwaizumi snapped. “You’re my best friend, dumbass. Don’t best friends tell each other everything?”

“Maybe,” Tooru agreed. “But have you ever upheld your end of that bargain, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi faltered. It took him a moment to huff and say, “Of course I have.  _ You’re  _ the pathological liar here, not me.”

“Really, Iwa-chan?” Tooru asked. “You tell me everything?” 

Iwaizumi nodded, rolling his eyes. “I just said that, didn’t I?”

Tooru squinted. “Then how come you never told me about your almost-kiss at Makki’s party?”

Iwaizumi fell silent. 

Tooru grinned. “Gotcha,” they hummed, popping a bite of food into their mouth. 

Iwaizumi scowled. “You’re such an ass.” 

Tooru shrugged. “Yeah, but this conversation isn’t about my personality flaws.” 

“Then what  _ is  _ it about?” Iwaizumi challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Tell me why you almost kissed me,” Tooru demanded. 

Iwaizumi grunted. “The hell? I thought I already did.”

“You did,” Tooru agreed. “But I don’t think you told me the whole truth.”

“And what makes you say that?” Iwaizumi asked.

Tooru smiled. “Call it intuition.”

Iwaizumi squinted at them for several seconds, before he scoffed and sat back in his chair. “Fine,” he spat. “But I’m only gonna tell you this once.” He closed his eyes, tilting his head back to face the ceiling. “It was Makki’s party, the last one of our third year. We’d both probably had a bit more than a couple of underage teenagers should’ve been drinking, but we weren’t doing anything dangerous so it wasn’t that big a deal.” He paused, scrubbing his hands down his face. “We were outside. You kept looking at the stars, trying to point out constellations for me, but I think your vision was spinning, ‘cause you couldn’t really seem to find any.”

Tooru clenched their hands into fists, their chest filling with an odd fluttering feeling the longer they looked at Iwaizumi. It was weird, to see him in a light like this; for so long, Iwaizumi had just been their best friend. Nothing more, nothing less. To finally pull back the curtain and recognize that they were in love with him simultaneously changed everything and nothing, and Tooru didn’t know what to do with the vertigo such a feeling filled them with.

“And then you got cold,” Iwaizumi continued, completely unaware of Tooru’s internal monologue. “And you complained until I gave you my jacket. I don’t know what came over me, but—seeing you in my coat, under the light of the stairs with a pretty blush on your face just made me realize—I was really, really in love with you. And I really, really wanted to kiss you.”

“But somebody came outside,” Tooru finished. “And the moment was gone.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “After that, I could never find a good time, and then you had a boyfriend and I’d missed my chance.”

“There’s the lie,” Tooru said, pointing. 

Iwaizumi frowned. “The—what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The lie I was talking about,” Tooru explained. “You said it again.”

Iwaizumi raised and eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Shittykawa. What the fuck is this lie you keep going on about?”

Tooru twirled their chopsticks idly. “Both times you’ve told this story, you finished it with  _ I missed my chance.”  _

Iwaizumi furrowed his brow. “So?”

Tooru looked up. “Why do  _ you  _ get to decide whether or not you have a chance with me?”

Iwaizumi blinked. “What?”

Tooru rolled their eyes. “Last I checked,  _ I  _ get to decide what I feel for you. Not the other way around.”

Tooru could practically see the gears turning in Iwaizumi’s head. For a guy who was normally so intuitive, it was really taking him quite a while to catch on. 

“So, you’re saying that you’re—”

“In love with you,” Tooru finished, growing impatient. “I am and always have been.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened. “Wh—really?”

“ _ Yes _ , really,” Tooru huffed. “Are you going to tell me if you love me too?”

“Of course I’m in love with you,” Iwaizumi retorted. “I never stopped being in love with you.” 

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” Tooru demanded. 

Iwaizumi blinked. 

Tooru rolled their eyes again. “Do I have to do everything myself? Get over here and kiss me!”

Before Tooru could react, Iwaizumi leaned across the table, grabbed Tooru’s face in his hands, and kissed them. He started to pull away when Tooru didn’t immediately reciprocate, but Tooru chased after him, rising from their seat to tangle their fingers in Iwaizumi’s hair. Only when the table digging into their ribs grew too painful to ignore did Tooru allow Iwaizumi to release them, both of them sitting back down with mussed hair, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks. 

“So,” Iwaizumi said, as silence settled over the two of them. He shifted his weight. “You’re in love with me.”

“I think I made my stance on that fairly obvious,” Tooru drawled. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “How’s this gonna work when I’m in America and you’re here? I mean, I’m literally leaving tomorrow morning.”

Tooru shrugged. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi replied. 

Tooru reached across the table and linked their pinkies. “Then I’ll see you when you get back,  _ boyfriend.”  _

Iwaizumi grinned. “Think I like the sound of that.”

“Mm,” Tooru breathed. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? emotional? it's more likely than u think.


	19. Chapter 19

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Oikawa asked, tipping their head back over the armrest of Shinsuke’s sofa to look at them where they were pulling their coat on near the door. Shinsuke paused, glancing down at themself before they finished sliding their arms through the sleeves of their coat. “It’s kind of a big thing to do so suddenly.”

Shinsuke hummed. “I’m ready. ‘N besides—I’ll have Osamu to support me if it gets hard.”

Oikawa squinted. “Whatever you say, Shin-chan.”

Shinsuke turned to look at them, giving a little spin in place. “I look okay?”

“Of course you do,” Oikawa replied. “ _ I  _ styled you. How could you not?”

Shinsuke snorted. “Right. How could I forget?” 

“I really don’t know,” Oikawa agreed. They paused, pressing their lips into a thin line before they said, “I’m proud of you, y’know that?”

Shinsuke glanced at them. 

Oikawa shifted. “I dunno. I kinda feel like I’ve watched you come into yourself since you first moved here.” 

Shinsuke smiled softly. “And I, you.”

“Sad Breakfast Club isn’t so sad anymore, huh?” Oikawa asked, turning their gaze to the ceiling. 

“Perhaps,” Shinsuke started, “it’s just the Breakfast Club now.”

The two of them lapsed into silence. 

“That’s weird to think about,” Oikawa said. 

Shinsuke glanced at the clock, reaching for their umbrella and their shoes. “I should be goin’,” they said. “Yer welcome to stay as long as ya like, long as ya don’t break anythin’.”

Oikawa pressed a hand to their chest. “No faith in me, even after all we’ve been through. I’m hurt, Shin-chan, I really am.”

Shinsuke stifled a grin. “I’m sure ya are,” they said, reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll see ya later, Oikawa.”

“See you, Shin-chan,” Oikawa called after them. “Good luck!”

Shinsuke stepped out the door, closing it behind them with a soft click that echoed quietly in the otherwise empty hallway. They pulled out their phone, checking to make sure Osamu hadn’t texted them anything important, like a change in plans of some sort, but everything was fine and Shinsuke’s lock screen was empty. Shinsuke took a deep breath, their eyes fluttering closed, before they turned and headed down the hallway. 

Their words to Aran so many years ago rang true in their mind suddenly: they didn’t see a point in being afraid of this. They’d done it before, after all; what was to say they couldn’t do it again?

Shinsuke walked quickly to Onigiri Miya, where they were supposed to be meeting Osamu. It was windy that morning—not so much that it was annoying, but enough that the gentle breeze picked up the hem of their skirt and twirled it around their shins, the pleated outer layer swishing with every step. Shinsuke could feel eyes on them as they walked, but they found that they really, really didn’t care. Strangers on the sidewalk didn’t know Shinsuke—what right did they have to judge? And besides. Shinsuke rather liked the version of themself that wore skirts and let their hair grow out more than the close-crop they’d always sported. They liked the version of themself that was comfortable in their own skin, the version of themself that was  _ happy.  _ Shinsuke had worked hard to get to where they were. Strangers on the sidewalk couldn’t take that away from them. 

When Shinsuke neared Onigiri Miya, they could see inside the window that Osamu was behind the counter, grinning at something someone else had said. Shinsuke smiled softly to themself before they tugged the door open, humming along with the chime of the overhead bell. Osamu looked up as soon as they entered, his grin widening at the same time his eyes softened. 

“Kita,” he called. “Ya made it.”

At once, three additional pairs of eyes turned to face Shinsuke. A part of them wanted to run, the part of them that brought them to the city to begin with, the part of them they didn’t know existed until their grandmother passed. But then Osamu came out from behind the counter to take their hand, brushing their bangs back so that he could press a kiss to Shinsuke’s forehead, and suddenly the fear dissipated. 

“I like yer skirt,” Osamu murmured, pulling back. Shinsuke hummed and smiled, squeezing his hand. “Looks nice on ya.” 

“Flattery gets ya nowhere,” Shinsuke breathed. 

Osamu grinned. “Does it at least get me to the counter? ‘Cause I want ya to come sit with us.” 

Shinsuke nodded, allowing Osamu to lead them over to one of the empty stools at the counter. Once they were seated, they finally turned their attention to the three other people in the room, offering Atsumu, Suna, and Aran each a wave. All of them returned greetings in varying degrees of shock, their gazes glued to Shinsuke. 

Osamu scoffed. “Look, guys, I know they look good, but could ya stop oglin’ my partner?” 

The three of them whipped their heads to face forward so fast, Shinsuke swore they heard at least one of their necks crack. Silence reigned over the shop for several moments, the only sound being Atsumu tapping his fingertips against the countertop. He never could handle silence very well.

Aran was the one to recover first. “Shinsuke,” he greeted. “We—uh—we didn’t know you were comin’.”

Shinsuke hummed. “I asked Osamu not to tell ya.”

Suna squinted. “How come?”

Shinsuke shrugged. “I wasn’t sure ya’d wanna see me, after the way I treated y’all.”

“So ya admit it,” Atsumu said, his eyes narrowed. “Ya treated us like garbage.”

“‘Tsumu,” Osamu started, but Shinsuke lifted a hand to cut him off. 

“I know what I did was wrong,” Shinsuke started. “And I’m very sorry for hurtin’ ya. But—I don’t regret what I did. Not entirely.” 

Nobody spoke, all eyes fixed on Shinsuke. A month ago, this kind of scrutiny would’ve made them uncomfortable. Three years ago, just like today, it wouldn’t bother them. Shinsuke took that as a sign that, at last, they were exactly where they were meant to end up.

“If I hadn’t come to the city, I never woulda found my true self,” Shinsuke explained. “And I’m too happy with who I am to regret that. Even if it meant I had to leave y’all behind in the process.”

“Then,” Atsumu paused, furrowing his brow slightly, “who  _ are  _ ya?”

“Still Kita Shinsuke,” Shinsuke replied. “Only difference is that I use they/them pronouns now.” 

There was silence for several moments, in which Shinsuke caught Osamu’s eye. Osamu sent them a smile, reaching across the counter to take Shinsuke’s hand in his. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aran cleared his throat and said, “Well, I dunno ‘bout y’all, but I’m pretty sure Kita Shinsuke’s still one of my best friends.”

“I mean,” Suna shrugged, “yeah. Everybody does dumb shit sometimes. It was getting kind of creepy how perfect you were, anyway.”

Shinsuke smiled. They glanced first at Osamu, then turned their gaze toward Atsumu. Atsumu pouted, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ghostin’ us was fuckin’ mean,” Atsumu huffed. 

“I know,” Shinsuke replied. 

Atsumu frowned. “I thought ya were better than that.”

“I know,” Shinsuke said. “Give me another chance?”

Atsumu pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“C’mon,” Osamu said, nudging his brother. “We both know ya’ve done a hell of a lot worse.”

“Fine,” Atsumu blurted. “I forgive ya.”

Shinsuke hummed, a soft grin overtaking their features. 

“Where’d you get the skirt?” Suna asked suddenly. All eyes turned to him. “What? Clothes don’t have a gender.”

As conversation resumed all around them, Shinsuke turned their eyes to the spot where their hand was intertwined with Osamu’s and warmth blossomed in their chest. A month ago, two, three—Shinsuke never would’ve thought they’d be here. They never thought they’d be surrounded by friends again, never thought they’d feel this comfortable in their own skin, never thought they'd be this  _ happy.  _

Their grandmother used to tell them, what felt like a million years ago, that someone was always watching. Shinsuke wondered if she was watching, if she could see them smiling right now, could see how happy they were right then in that moment. 

They hoped so. She was part of what brought them to this point, after all. They hoped she could see just how much she’d done for Shinsuke, how much she meant to them. How much she always would. 

“Yanno, ya really do look good,” Osamu murmured, discreetly removing himself from the others’ conversation. Shinsuke’s cheeks warmed as they squeezed his hand. 

“What’d I say ‘bout flattery?” they breathed. Osamu grinned. 

“I know, I know,” he said. “Can’t help it. I just love ya too much.”

Shinsuke hummed. “No such thing as too much love.”

Osamu squeezed their hand. Shinsuke squeezed back. 

And, no—this wasn’t where Shinsuke thought they’d be when they graduated high school. This wasn’t even  _ who  _ they thought they’d be. But despite all the pain, all the tears and the heartache and the grief—

Shinsuke wouldn’t trade it for anything. As if Shinsuke was made of the very seasons beyond the four walls of Onigiri Miya, Shinsuke felt like the all-encompassing pain, the icy numbness and grief, had melted away to make way for soft love and the blossoming happiness. The snow and ice turned to flowers and sun, and Shinsuke was all that they’d ever wanted to be.

Winter turned to spring, and Shinsuke was content. 

-

Twenty minutes after Tooru dropped Iwaizumi off at the airport, they ran into a familiar face at the nearby cafe. He was standing near the trashcan by the exit, waiting for his drink to be made as he surveyed the shop with that infuriatingly calm look on his face Tooru hated so much. But Ushijima didn’t appear to have noticed them yet, and Tooru couldn’t decide if they were happy about that.

They stole glances at him from time to time as they moved up in the line, frowning slightly. There was an odd feeling in their stomach, a strange emptiness they weren’t familiar with. Every time they looked at Ushijima for the last however many years, there was always  _ something  _ in their gut, whether it was boiling fury or seething jealousy or even fluttering butterflies. But now, looking at him from across the cafe, waiting to order a coffee for themself and a hot chocolate to take home to Kita, they felt—

Nothing. At all. Like they hadn’t dated him for nine months when he never even loved them, like they hadn’t despised his guts for all of middle and high school, like he hadn’t taken all that they were and destroyed them with it. Like he didn’t matter, like he was—like he was just another person in a cafe, someone Tooru had no obligation to whatsoever. 

A stranger. 

The barista called out Ushijima’s name. He moved to take his drink, thanking her before he turned and left the cafe, all without ever noticing Tooru’s presence. 

“Next,” the barista called. Tooru glanced around and realized that they were next in line, so they stepped up to the register and first ordered Kita’s hot chocolate, then their own coffee. Once they finished paying, they wandered over to the waiting area, barely three feet from where Ushijima had been standing, and that odd emptiness persisted. It wasn’t the kind of emptiness that felt hollow, disheartening. No, it was more—more like complete and total indifference. 

Not that long ago, Tooru might’ve been infuriated that Ushijima had the gall to not even fucking  _ notice  _ them, or maybe they would’ve thought an encounter that didn’t end in physical blows was a lost opportunity. But when the barista called their name and handed them a small tray with both drinks, and Tooru turned to leave the cafe, turned to return to the apartment complex where Kita is supposed to show them some animated movie Tooru’s never seen, all Tooru felt was—

Content, they suppose. Absolutely fine. Because Ushijima wasn’t—he wasn’t anybody anymore, was he? Maybe Tooru had finally moved on from the broken shell Ushijima had left them. Maybe they had finally taken their broken pieces and reassembled them into something functional, something closer to who they used to be. Maybe removing Ushijima from their life, their memories, their heart was all it took to get Tooru’s heart back where it was supposed to be. Maybe in letting go of Ushijima, Tooru finally found themself again.

How many months had it been? How long had it been since Tooru lost everything?

Except—how much did they  _ really  _ lose? Volleyball was never going to last forever, even if Tooru ended up being good enough to go pro. And their relationship with Ushijima was never built to last, in retrospect. They and Ushijima were not made for each other, were not made to stay together for the rest of their lives. Ushijima’s arms were good for an embrace when Tooru didn’t have any other options, but his heart had never been theirs to hold, and theirs shouldn’t have been his, either. 

Besides—all that they’d lost turned into all that they gained. Without the injury, they wouldn’t have met Kita. Without Kita, they might not have picked themself up off the floor and decided to walk forward again, for better or worse. Without Kita, Tooru wouldn’t have bothered reconnecting with friends, wouldn’t have bothered being anything other than the shattered husk of a failed volleyball career and a broken heart.

Without the knee injury, without Ushijima, without all the pain and rage and grief the last several months put Tooru through, Tooru wouldn’t be where they are now, and they thought that maybe—

Maybe that meant it was all worth it. 

Their phone buzzed in their jacket pocket. Tooru pulled it out, finding an incoming call from Kita waiting for them on the screen. Tooru swiped to answer, lifting the phone to their ear. 

“Shin-chan!” they chirped. “I’m on my way back now. I got you your favorite.”

“ _ Hot chocolate?”  _ Kita asked, their voice crackling slightly. 

Tooru hummed. “What else?”

Kita chuckled softly. “ _ Okay. I have the movie ready at my place. How far out are ya?” _

“Mm, probably like—ten minutes?” Tooru replied. They opened their mouth to speak, about to tell Kita all about the cafe and Ushijima, but before they could even get the words out, they found that—they didn’t really want to. Ushijima was nothing to them now, even less than a stranger. Why waste their breath telling Kita about someone who didn’t mean anything to either of them? 

_ “Did ya cry when ya had to kiss Iwaizumi goodbye?”  _ Kita asked, changing the subject entirely. There was a note of teasing in their voice that made Tooru smile despite the jab. 

Ushijima and the cafe forgotten, Tooru gasped in mock-offense. “How dare you make light of my pain?” they demanded. 

Kita laughed.  _ “I’ll make it up to ya, I promise.”  _

Tooru grinned. “Why, Shin-chan, I will have you know I am in a committed relationship.”

Tooru could practically  _ hear  _ Kita rolling their eyes. “ _ Get yer mind outta the gutter, ya filthy rat.” _

Tooru laughed. “Shin-chan! So mean!”

_ “I’ve been hangin’ around Osamu too often,”  _ Kita replied. “ _ His vocabulary’s wearin’ off on me.”  _

“Yeah,” Tooru hummed, “but you’re not gonna stop seeing him, so.” 

“ _ Fair point,”  _ Kita conceded. “ _ Hurry ‘n get home, ‘kay? My phone’s gonna die, so I gotta go plug it in.” _

“Okay,” Tooru said. “See you soon, Shin-chan.”

“ _ See ya soon, Oikawa,”  _ Kita replied. The line clicked, then it went dead. Tooru lowered their phone and took a deep breath, the brisk afternoon air flooding their lungs. A small part of them wondered what Ushijima was up to, wondered where he was going and why he was at the cafe to begin with, when they knew he lived on the other side of the city. 

But a much bigger part of them just—didn’t care. Ushijima was a stranger of the past, a stepping stone that got Tooru to where they were always meant to be. 

And besides—they didn’t have time to worry about someone like Ushijima. Not when Kita was waiting up for them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it folks,, the final chapter
> 
> thank u all for coming along w me on this adventure!!! writing this fic was rlly cathartic and it made me smile a bunch every week when i saw other ppl enjoying it :,)
> 
> thank u again to my lovely beta, [ aspen ](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/TastefullyIlliterate)
> 
> come hang out w me on tumblr or twitter! 
> 
> one last time,
> 
> be gay do crime <3

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey !!
> 
> as always, talk to me on [tumblr](https://fake-charliebrown.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/fakecharlieb), or check out my [carrd](https://fakecharliebrown.carrd.co/)
> 
> caspie can be found right over here on [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastefullyIlliterate) or here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/senkusIut) :>


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